Fireflight
by Eirian Erisdar
Summary: Roy and Riza are separated by rank in military. But when Roy comes upon Riza one night while walking through the park, what happens? And how should their relationship change after? Set after manga epilogue. Royai.
1. Lamplight

**Of course, one of the many inevitable facts of life is that I must go crazy fangirling over any new manga I read. Of course, finishing the manga in four days is a bit much. I usually write about D. Gray-Man, but in the case of FMA, it has to be Roy and Riza. They're adorable together. This is an oneshot set after the manga epilogue. Very sweet, and I hope not too OOC. Enjoy. I don't own FMA or any of its characters.**

As the sun rests, seemingly just for a moment, on the far line of the horizon, Night flips his cane, donning a sharp black tuxedo, and prepares the equivalent exchange of places with Day, as has been since the beginning of time. Day removes her white hat, hurrying with soft-soled steps around the arch of the world, dancing to the hidden music, the Nocturne of Amestris. The soft autumn breeze whirls around Night's feet as he chases Day with equally fluid paces, their dance never faltering, below the heavens and above the earth in an unending, melodious duet. And with each flourish of Night's black-gloved hands, velvety sable washes over the azure sky.

And one by one, diamonds speckle the velvet below, as the lights of Central City flare to life, fireflies on the circular, opaque glass of Amestris.

In the maze of paths and lanes of a small, deserted park in Central City, black boots slip with a silent hunter's tread between the soft pools of lamplight, under the rustling trees above, the stars jewels in their hair. The shadows somehow seem less dark than the liquid ink of the coattails flapping about the boot-heels. Something in this stranger's stride belies the power he holds.

In the brief luminance of a wrought-iron lamp, the shadows clear from under the army cap, and the weak rays illuminate the lines of silver ranking on the figure's shoulders, revealing him to be a General. The light falls on an intricate seal of a circle and fire-salamander, printed on the backs of white gloves, which are now reaching up to straighten the cap past coal-black eyes of glittering intensity.

Roy Mustang lets the column of light wash over him like water as he pauses to glance about the empty park, watching the wind waltzing with the trees to the trickling music of a hidden blackbird. Roy usually never allows himself to contemplate deeply about matters other than the military; he finds it distracts himself from the more important things. But sometimes, his mind wanders to matters strangely emotional. _Why, when Hughes passed away– _Roy breaks the thought off. He has never truly gotten over Hughes' death, not even when his death was avenged on Envy. Even now, over two years since the last battle, after rebuilding Ishvala and now returning to Central to report…

Roy is glad of the cool night air. He had neglected his car in Central headquarters, preferring to walk the short distance, cutting through the park. He reflects that the park has always been empty at this hour; in the old days, when he worked at Central, he had favoured the quiet. It was the only place that gave him peace from the horrors of past war.

As he continues on his silent way, Roy chances to turn his head as he passes by a path that separates from the one he is on, curving to his right. He narrows his eyes. In the hazy boundary between the soft shadows under the trees and the lighted path, a solitary figure is silhouetted on a park bench, head bowed, the starlight and lamplight glancing off a blonde fringe.

_Riza_. Something in the way her head is tilted sends a pulse through Roy's thoughts. Somehow, he _knows_ Riza must be contemplating something serious. For a moment, Roy dithers between walking on and walking over, and then curses his stupidity and strides toward her, setting his features into what he hopes is a natural expression. Although Roy's footsteps are velvety quiet, Riza snaps up her head, one had darting with invisible speed to the holster at her side. As Roy emerges into the circle of the lamp, a flutter of unreadable emotion flits across her face, but the next instant, she is on her feet, her expression one of attention.

"Sir!" Riza exclaims. "Has something happened?"

Roy takes a moment before responding. "No, nothing's happened," he answers, examining her. Riza's blonde hair, grown again in the past year, has been let down from her usual military style, tumbling down to her shoulders, obscuring her signs of rank on the shoulders of her long autumn coat. Roy decides he rather likes the effect. Her eyes seem red-rimmed, but then again, it could be the glow of the lamp above them.

As if realising her appearance, Riza appears mortified, her light brown eyes widening as she involuntarily reaches up to her hair. "Oh! My apologies, sir," she says quietly, unlike her usual confident self. "I let it down after I left work."

"No, it's quite alright," Roy says quickly. "I was walking home. What are you doing here?"

"Just…thinking," Riza replies, glancing away.

Roy watches her for another few seconds, then lowers onto the bench and removes his cap. "What about?" he asks casually, trying to sound bored.

Riza looks at him, emotionless. Roy motions with a hand, and she slowly sinks next to him. They stare at the icy stars above, as they have on many a mission, just the two of them at a fire, talking about the subjects soldiers discuss on missions. _But no matter. _Tonight, Roy wants to talk about anything else, something not related to their jobs or the military. He notices again how Riza's hair covers her signs of rank, and wishes that his general's rank is not so visible on his cap and his shoulders, that they could speak as...friends, and not a General and his subordinate.

When Riza speaks, her voice is soft and strained. "Do you remember what today is?" Her face is still hidden from Roy by sheets of blonde hair.

_Ah. Of course._ Roy growls inwardly at his insensitivity – _today is the anniversary of her father's passing_. He had hoped by not mentioning it, she would be less melancholy. "Yes. Of course I remember," he says softly.

Riza starts, and turns towards him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bothering you about this, sir."

Roy lets out a slow breath, sighing, "Riza." Riza registers the use of her first name. Roy continues carefully, avoiding her gaze, "He was my sensei. I believe I have a right to know. And don't call me sir. Just talk to me as we used to do, all right? We're off work right now."

Riza nods, a minute motion. Her voice is hoarse. "I can hardly remember him now. He was so…complicated. Somehow, I still miss him. I haven't mourned in the intervening years, but this year…I don't know. After all this time, I thought I would have gotten over it, but I haven't."

"Some people you never let go," Roy murmurs, turning to her. Riza nods to show that she understands. Roy leans back, fingering his hat, and continues, "Perhaps it's better that you don't forget. This way, your father will always teach you. I have never forgotten what Sensei has taught me, or what Hughes has taught me."

"You, Roy Mustang, are a very wise man," Riza comments wryly.

"You've only just noticed?" Roy answers indignantly, glancing at his boot. Then a muffled sniff sounds to his right and he turns, jaw dropping. He has only ever seen Riza Hawkeye cry once the whole time they were together in the military.

Riza scrubs angrily at her eyes, growling, "I'm sorry. I never cry in public."

Roy notices the emphasis on 'in public' and hisses when he realises she must only show her emotions at home, alone. He searches his pockets for a handkerchief and finds none. Aware of the silent trails down Riza's cheeks like liquid diamonds, Roy curses and reaches over with a gloved hand, brushing away her tears with his fingers.

"Sir! Your gloves!" Riza exclaims. "They're getting wet…"

"It doesn't matter," Roy says with finality. "I don't mind." Then he decides to take a leap of faith, and pulls her into an embrace. At first Riza hesitates, torn between her rank and her emotion, but then relaxes into it.

They sit in silence for a while.

Riza has never seen Roy act like this. On the rare occasions she has chanced upon Roy on one of his dates, laughing like an idiot while fingering a glass of wine, she has always seen him as he appears: shallowly spewing eloquent fancies while the women simper prettily. Riza could never simper. And she didn't expect Roy to comfort her in such a concerned manner. _And actually, it's quite sweet._

"How do you always know what to say when I'm like this?" she breathes into his coat.

"When have I ever seen you cry like this since we entered the military?" Roy counters.

The muffled answer comes. "You haven't _seen_ me cry."

Roy blinks as he slowly understands. "That time…when I called you while drunk and told you about the flowers…you were upset, and not just because of Bradley, weren't you?"

"I was afraid," Riza whispers. Roy's gloves are sodden now. "I thought I had taught myself not to fear anything after the war. But I didn't have anyone to talk to about Pride's threats." Roy feels her slow exhalation. "I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't. I regretted leaving your side, even though I was ordered to."

"I have many regrets as well," Roy murmurs. "I knew something was wrong the moment you spoke. I shouldn't have offered you the flowers. I should have given them to you myself."

"Flowers are for little girls," Riza chuckles hoarsely. "But thank you for trying to comfort me."

"This is…strange," Roy comments, laughing in turn. "We're both acting a bit different tonight, aren't we?" His fingers absently stroke Riza's hair. "Must be the paperwork rotting our brains. Or," – he tilts his head to look down at her – "We're in some type of manga."

Riza raises her head to meet his gaze. They stare at each other for a full minute, deadly serious. Then they explode into gales of laughter. "That would be hilarious," Riza chokes as she scrubs the last of her tears form her face.

"And impossible," Roy answers.

"Thank you," Riza whispers.

"For what?" Roy grins.

"For being there to talk to," Riza smiles, something exceedingly rare. "Always. We never needed to speak to communicate."

Roy feels a spike enter his heart as her words bring him back two years before. "When Pride was trying to get me to transmute a human…and you were bleeding out…I understood what you were trying to tell me just by looking at you."

"You knew I would have killed you if you did as they wished, right?" Riza says, all laughter gone.

"Yes." Roy's sable eyes narrow. "But then, we would have died together."

"I don't get why everyone gets so worked up about that. Dying is dying," Riza comments.

"But living without someone that means a lot to you is worse than dying," Roy counters, tugging off his soaked gloves and taking her hand with a gentle pressure.

"What do I mean to you?" Riza asks suddenly. She swivels to meet his eyes. "What more than your subordinate?"

Roy is silent for a long while before answering. "You're…you're like a piece of canvas awning to me."

Riza's eyebrows meet, and her grip on his hand becomes vicelike. "Al…right?" She hazards.

"Don't misunderstand me," Roy whispers, brushing the hair out of her eyes with his ungloved hand. "What I mean is…you keep me dry when it's raining."

A slow, slow smile spreads on Riza's serious features. "Eloquent as ever," she murmurs. "Thank you."

They remain in the park for a while, neither of them wanting to move. But when the moon reaches its zenith, Roy rises and says gently, "I'll walk you home." Riza nods mutely and takes Roy's proffered arm, leaning her head on his shoulder.

They make their way to Riza's door, the streets empty, save for the wind whistling about them and the stars wheeling above. Riza presses closer to Roy. They move with a sort of dreamlike stupor, as if time has slowed into a liquid flow, yet coalesced into an instant.

At her door, Riza turns toward Roy, and before he can say anything, reaches up and kisses him on the cheek. Roy flushes bright scarlet as he returns her embrace.

"Thank you, Roy," Riza whispers into his coat.

"You're welcome, Riza," Roy murmurs back, closing his eyes.

Riza breathes out slowly, a release of pent-up breath, and steps back, her eyes shining with an amber glow, although they seem to glisten more than usual. Her deft hands fix up her hair once more to military standards.

Standing to attention, Riza says smartly, "Goodnight, General, sir!"

The corners of Roy's mouth uplift a tiny fraction. "Goodnight, Colonel," he replies, straightening.

With one last, lingering smile, Riza closes the door behind her. Roy understands what she could not say from that one smile.

Roy stares at the white wood of the door, one hand still outstretched. _When did I reach out? I don't remember,_ he wonders, dazed. Slowly, like a man who has just experienced a revelation, he turns and walks away, hands in his pockets. Out on the deserted streets, a strange half-smile spreads on his features. He knows why Riza called him General; the military forbids such relationships. _But I will not give up hope,_ he muses. _Things are clearer between us now. That has to count for something._

Roy Mustang laughs once, and is silent on the rest of the long road home.

**What did you think? Sweet enough for ya? Something like this had to happen, after all. Royai was the most perfect 'relationship' with neither side admitting it, so I decided to give them something more. Please review!**


	2. Chess

**I know, I know. I said it would be a oneshot, but now it obviously is going to be much longer. I'm supposed to have stopped writing fanfiction by now. But yes. I'm going to continue writing ANYWAY, even though I have to study (sob) and IB exams are next year (sobsob). So this will be a reasonably long fic, BUT MY LAST. Sort of. ARGH. I'm doomed.**

**Kitsune Blue, Anonymous, : Thanks for reviewing! You're both great :D**

**BlackShadowKat, Antigone Rex, wifi: Thanks for liking the description! I was worried I wouldn't be able to write good description and fight scenes like I do for my D. Gray-Man fics, but if you like that sort of stuff, and you want to know what I think Roy's fire is like, you should probably read the first chapter of my fic A Charade of Flames.**

**lotusmelody17: Thank you as ever! Your review made me laugh. A lot. And it's one of the major reasons I'm continuing it :D So thank you, and enjoy. Fluff scenes, dear. Lots of them. Muahahahaha!**

**And to those who alerted and favourited, thank you very much for the encouragement.**

**I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of its characters. I've assumed one or two promotions to higher ranks for all the military characters in this.**

Roy's office is silent, save for the rustle of parchment and the smooth scratching of a pen. Being a general has allowed Roy many luxuries, including a sumptuously decorated office with sofas and tables in a separate area from his desk. At first sight of this temporary office in Central, Roy had blanched at the frills and velvet and golden chandeliers, and ordered one quaking corporal to "go do something about it". Roy had returned the next day to find his office in impeccable order, decorated in dark colours with almost perfectly restrained, elegant taste. This had surprised him, as when he had given the orders, the corporal had been shaking in his boots, looking completely lost.

Roy suspects his top aide had something to do with it. Riza had wordlessly shown out the corporal with what had appeared to be a bland expression, but what Roy had immediately seen to be her scheming grin.

And everywhere in this chamber he can see signs of her touch…

The grave cluster of flowers in an alcove, dark-vased, cerulean against a background of sable…Roy remembers how once he had chanced upon Riza _shopping_, and before moving on, noticed how she always chose the simplest, darkest materials and somehow combined them to be within acceptable military standards, and yet far more elegant than what he had seen other women wearing in the military… The carpet is navy blue and mutedly quiet, so he can hear the soft ticking of the simple, yet exquisitely carved wooden clock in a corner now striking four in the afternoon…

It is Riza's birthday today. He should ask everyone to dinner to celebrate. _Must remember to do so before she leaves work_, he thinks blearily. The events in the park a few days ago weigh heavily on his mind. He wonders what he should do next…

Roy shakes his head. He should be working on his Alchemy notes, not thinking about his office, or the one who made it perfect...He gazes up at the ceiling from the sofa, his long legs stretched out before him, and then lowers his head again to the Alchemy notes in his gloved hands. The sofa is far too comfortable, really. Just the right length for his head to rest on the cushioned armrest, his booted feet crossed on the other end. His hand wavers on his Alchemy notes, over the varied names of women that code his research, and he becomes aware that he has no idea what name his hand is writing. No matter…just a little rest…

When Havoc finds Roy several hours later, he takes a moment to remove the cigarette in his mouth and grin at the General, stretched out on the sofa, one had still gripping a pen while the other holds a sheaf of coded papers. The grin turns into spasms of laughter when Roy gives a very ungentlemanly snore.

Roy straightens up like a zombie when Havoc's maniacal laughter reaches his ears, wincing at the bright light. "Major Havoc," he growls between clenched teeth, "May I ask what is so amusing?" His pen slips out of his hand onto the crumpled Alchemy notes on the floor. The top sheet is rather unintelligible, as Roy had been dozing when he wrote it.

"Nothing," Havoc snorts between chuckles. "I don't usually equate the word 'amusing' with you, sir." He crosses over to help Roy pick up his Alchemy sheets, moving fluidly, all traces of his old wounds gone. Roy lets him do so, as no one can interpret the named code except for himself. Roy runs a hand through his crumpled hair and tries to regain a modicum of dignity, and glances down to find Havoc staring at the sheet he has just lifted off the floor.

"What is it?" Roy snaps, rubbing his face.

Havoc's voice is wry. "This is a new change to your code, sir. Allow me to read out a few of the names you have used." Already, Havoc's shoulders are shaking with suppressed mirth.

Before Roy can do anything except frown in confusion, Havoc reads out a list of names in chronological order. "Stacy, Victoria, Elizabeth, Rose, and Gwendolyn are names you use in the first half of the page, sir. But then, your handwriting becomes rather…messy, and _what do we have here?"_ Havoc raises an eyebrow at Roy, flashing a cocky grin as he reads on. "_Riza…Riza…Riza…Riza _again_… Riza…Riza,"_ Havoc glances at Roy, whose face is rapidly draining white. "Sir, why have you written Colonel Riza's name twenty times in a row?" Havoc grins, one eye blinking in a wink. "Something you want to tell the rest of us?"

"SHUT UP!" Roy snarls at him, grabbing the sheet of parchment and flicking his fingers at it. A huge fireball envelops not just that sheet, but all the other papers as well. "I was...half-asleep!" he blathers quickly, acutely aware of his reddening cheeks. "And I don't like what you're implying, Havoc." To top it all, now he appears distinctly singed.

"Apologies, sir," Havoc replies easily, standing to attention and glancing lazily at the pile of ash beside him. "I just came to tell you it's past seven-thirty."

Roy freezes for a moment as the news sinks in. Then he snaps his ruffled head to the clock, swears loudly, and runs for his coat, pulling the sable fabric onto his shoulders. "Havoc! Has Ri…everybody left yet?" he shouts, trying desperately to maintain a casual tone. _Please don't have left for home yet,_ he pleads silently.

Havoc motions behind him with a finger. "I wouldn't know, sir. _She_," – Roy notices the emphasis – "hasn't left work yet. Perhaps the firing range, sir?" he suggests in a barely restrained chuckle.

Roy straightens, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and says sternly, "Thank you, Major Havoc." Havoc salutes smartly, but with a cocky flourish only he can accomplish. With difficulty, Roy stops himself from rolling his eyes and leaves the room with stuttering steps. Havoc collapses in a silent fit of laughter as he hears Roy break into a sprint behind the closed door.

(:~:)

Roy strides quickly across the courtyard, a master in the art of hurrying without appearing to do so. As the cool air bites into his skin, he tries unsuccessfully to dispel his foul mood. When he reaches the firing range, he gently slides open the door, his steps turning velvety-quiet as he paces silently to the darkened firing range. His shadow is long and sharp behind him, cut by the lights of the only lit booth. Calmly assembling a small-calibre handgun in the half-light is a girl in military uniform, her blonde hair standing out prominently from the shadows around her and the inky-black of her shirt.

Halting thirty feet behind her so as not to alert her of his presence, Roy watches as Riza deftly thumbs back the hammer and fires six shots in quick succession at a piece of white paper already riddled with holes. Her expression is one of intense concentration. Roy stops to fix the image in his mind, and cranes his neck to see the shape on the paper, but is too far away to make it out. Riza calmly puts down her gun and goes to collect the paper. When she returns, Roy has to jam a finger in his mouth to stop himself from uttering a shout of surprise.

Riza's serious face breaks into a sweet smile as she examines the sheet of paper, extending her hand to stroke its surface warmly. In almost exquisite neatness, small bullet-holes outline an image of on the white. Roy makes out a chin, a sharp nose, and spikes of hair…he nearly chokes. _It is an outline of his head._ Riza continues to trace the bullet-pocks with her finger, smiling as she does so.

Roy finally manages to unfreeze his lungs and gasp in a breath.

As if alerted by some infinitesimal sound, Riza swivels and calls sharply, "Who's there?" Her hand hovers above the holster at her side. Wincing inwardly, Roy emerges out of the shadows, blinking as the garish white light of the booth washes over him. Riza snaps to attention, startled at the sight of him, and thrusts the image she has made behind her, a blush rapidly creeping up her cheeks. "General!" she says. "I'm sorry…I didn't hear you coming."

Roy, for once, is glad the half-light obscures his equally crimson face. "Um…I was…that is, would you consider…?" Aware that he is blundering, Roy steels himself and asks, "Would you like to have dinner out…with the rest of us? It's your birthday, after all." He cringes inwardly at how it sounds.

Riza's face, which had held a slightly hopeful air at the first half of his words, turns unreadable once more. "Ah…thank you for asking, General, but I intended to stay home tonight," she says with forced clarity. Flicking off the light, she gathers her coat and bag and walks by him in the pitch darkness. He feels her brush past, and opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

At the door to the courtyard, Riza turns and calls, "Goodnight, General." Something in her voice belies regret.

"Goodnight," Roy returns. Riza smiles gently at him and slips out, leaving him alone in the dark. In the heavy silence afterwards, Roy slowly walks over to the wall and methodically bangs his head against it. With each impact, a word appears in his thoughts. _You…stupid…idiot…Roy…Mustang…_ Growling, he rubs the newly-formed bruise on his forehead and stalks out, slamming the door behind him.

He is halfway across the courtyard before revelation strikes him. With new energy in his feet, he races back up to his chambers, changes into civilian dress, and grabs his hat and a wrapped package. He tears off his glove and tries desperately to slick back his hair with water into something resembling neatness. He fails miserably. Ignoring this, Roy rushes out, saying to a passing Havoc as he leaves, "I've got something to do. Goodnight."

Havoc pauses as he watches Roy walk into the wind, his sable coat flapping about him. Lighting a new cigarette, Havoc heads up to other levels in Headquarters. _It is fortunate that all our colleagues are here for the annual report,_ he muses. _They'll be interested in this._

(:~:)

Twenty minutes later, a group of highly trained military personnel hover in an alley, watching Roy step out of a shop, now holding two packages in his arms. Havoc, Fuery, Falman, Breda, Maria Ross, Brosh, and Armstrong all narrow their eyes as they try to discern what Roy has bought.

"What's that?" Fuery hisses to Havoc.

Havoc frowns. "A…vase, I think."

Falman rolls his eyes. "So you dragged us all out here to watch the General shopping? What if he finds us?"

"Don't worry, I have a backup plan." Havoc replies breezily. "And if the backup plan doesn't work, just grovel and hope he doesn't fry our brains."

"Shut up." The men look to their left to find Maria grinning with a girlish sort of glee. "If he's doing what I think he's doing, he's a far better man than many of his girlfriends think."

"So…what _is_ he doing?" Armstrong hazards.

"Wait and see," Maria whispers. "Come on." Silently, the group slips out, following Roy at a discrete distance. The large crowds on the boulevard conveniently obscure them.

The next shop Roy enters sends Havoc digging his elbows into many of his colleagues' ribs. "What did I tell you?" he chuckles. "The General's gone into a _flower shop."_

When Roy emerges from the shop, laden down with the wrapped vase, package in one hand, and a dozen red roses in the other, Maria breaks into a wide smile. "Yes…!" she laughs. "I knew it!"

By now, the group of soldiers are attracting much attention from the residents of the alley, watching from their windows at the giggling bunch of men and the single chuckling woman, seemingly drunkenly pointing at a man doing his shopping.

Roy's boots crunch on freshly fallen leaves as he marches briskly down the streets, listening the piping tunes of the wind in his ears, the gentle whispering song of the dancing leaves about him, a strange mixture of fear and exhilaration coursing through his veins. Autumn is shivering with the coming of winter, the flutesong turning into the silvered chimes of bells, frosty and warm in mellow tones, and Winter slowly shakes off its covering of snow and feels Roy's soft tread on the cobbles, a tapping rhythm both familiar and hopeful. The colours stand out sharper from each facet of reality; the deep navy blue of the darkening skies, warm yellowed lamplight in grey wrought-iron lamp posts falling on the creamy white yarn of Roy's scarf, clean and bright against his ebony coat.

Roy wonders whether his drink had been spiked. Whatever. He's enjoying the high right now.

All too soon, his long stride takes him to Riza's apartment block door. There, his confidence evaporates, leaving his mind stabbed with knives of incapability. So he wonders back and forth on the stone steps, his face one of serious contemplation, while in the alley opposite, barely stifled laughter echoes off the walls.

Finally Roy bites his lip, pinches himself hard on the arm, and enters the building, nodding courteously to the doorman, who nods back blandly and resumes watching the street, whereupon he raises his eyebrows at the small crowd of snorting soldiers that rush into the side alley next to the building he guards. One of them tosses a gold coin at the doorman, simultaneously showing a military badge. The doorman bites the coin and pretends he sees nothing.

Undaunted, Havoc motions with a hand and his companions flow up the fire escape, coming to a halt outside Riza's half-open window. And with bated breath, they wait.

(:~:)

In the flickering crackles of a warm fire, Riza lays the table with a single plate and cutlery, placing a pot of stew by it. She reflects that she has made more than enough for herself today; a wry smile touches her lips. _Who could I possibly have to share it with?_ As if in answer, a soft nose touches her ankle, and Riza bends to scratch Hayate's ears affectionately, murmuring, "Thank you, Hayate. I love you too." Unbidden, a soft wrench grows in her heart. Riza laughs again. _Why, lonely on your birthday?_ she muses. When Roy had asked her to join the others for dinner, a small, deeply buried part of her had wanted to say yes. But something had stopped her.

Riza refuses to allow any regret to surface, but Roy's crestfallen expression when she had refused swims before her closed eyes. "Handsome adorable idiot," she murmurs to herself, warmth stirring in her heart despite herself.

Then two discreet knocks sound on the wooden front door, as if the knocker is one of confidence, yet strangely hesitant. Riza stands still for a moment, a bizarre hope springing up within her, only to be quashed by her sharply focussed mind. Steeling herself, she puts on a bland expression and calmly opens the door.

And her cheeks turn scarlet.

Roy blinks down at her, looking like a sable-topped beetroot. But a very _adorable little vegetable,_ Riza wonders, then slaps herself mentally for the idiotic thought. Roy's hair is ruffled by the wind, a dry leaf caught here and there in the ebony strands, his white scarf wrapped securely around his neck. He gives her a hesitant smile, proffering (she thought) an enormous bouquet of roses. Riza detects just the minutest tremble in his white-gloved hands, and finds that the uncertainty in his dark eyes twinkles sweetly at her.

Riza is unaware of how she appears to Roy. To Roy, her golden hair is shining about her shoulders, and he finds the depths of her dark brown eyes, as always, unreadable. He tries not to hyperventilate and lose what face he still has left. Roy opens his mouth. He had rehearsed a speech on the way over, but now he finds his mind blissfully, echoingly blank. "Riza…I got these for you," he stammers, cursing inwardly as he lifts the flowers.

Riza sighs, and accepts the roses with a raised eyebrow. _Best take them before he collapses from nerves,_ she thinks. "Come in, Gen…Roy," she corrects herself. "I thought I refused the offer of dinner," she says plainly.

Appearing relieved that the initial awkwardness, at least, is over, Roy steps in, closing the door behind him, and answers airily, "You said you wanted to stay home. Didn't mean you wouldn't get lonely." He absently ruffles Hayate's neck as the dog bounds over to lick his shoes. "Well, do you?"

"Do I what?" Riza returns, gripping the back of her chair to stop her hands shaking. She hopes Roy doesn't notice.

"Do you need company?" Roy swallows nervously. "Because if you don't, I can go." He runs his hand through his hair absentmindedly, but the leaves remain in the tangle of black. He looks like he doesn't know whether to stand still or to run for his life. He dithers for a moment, and half-turns to go.

Riza's emotional and sensible sides clash within her, and finally, emotion wins out. "Wait." Riza manages to make her tone one of calm. "Thank you for coming, Roy. If you could stay, stay. I made more than enough dinner for the two of us."

Roy lets out a slow breath and hangs his hat, coat and scarf on the wall, placing the two packages on the table. His face regains some of its original colour. Outside the window, Havoc pumps his fist in the air, nudging his companions.

Riza smiles at the roses. "It's nice of you to get me flowers, but I don't have a va-" she stops, amused, when Roy unwraps the first package to reveal an elegant vase. "You remembered," Riza murmurs.

"Naturally," Roy answers, bringing the vase over to the sink. Over the sound of running water, he continues, "I also remembered that the past two times I asked you out, you rejected me. So I decided to take matters into my own hands." He hesitates before continuing, "And after what happened in the park two weeks ago…"

Riza joins him, neatly arranging the roses in the water, and reaches up, deftly flicking the dry leaves out of Roy's hair. "Of course," she answers. Roy's heartbeat doubles at her touch, and he turns away to hide his flushing face.

On the shivering metal of the fire escape, Maria grins, even as the men around her whistle slowly_. "For once in your life, you were right. The park? Are they serious?"_ Armstrong nudges Havoc teasingly. Havoc mock-punches him and turns back to the window, straining to hear the conversation within.

"Thank you," Roy says, as he helps Riza set another place at the table.

"For what?" Riza asks lightly.

"For knowing me well. You decorated my office, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," Riza returns, raising an eyebrow "You should have seen that poor Corporal's face. He must have nearly wet his pants."

Roy laughs, a light, free chuckle that is so unlike him, those outside the window are surprised. "You are amazing. It was like you knew exactly what I wanted the place to look like."

"I didn't," Riza says, lowering herself into the chair Roy has pulled out for her. "I decorated your office according to what _I _wanted it to look like."

"We must be telepathic," Roy murmurs with a smile as he sits opposite her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Roy," Riza says emotionlessly. "Telepathy doesn't exist." Roy's smile turns wan.

Riza watches as Roy's eyes light up the moment he tastes her stew. She hides a smile as she sees him visibly restrain himself from cramming the entire thing in his mouth. "Good?" she asks carelessly.

"Are you kidding?" Roy mumbles through a mouthful of stew. "This is like ambrosia! You must get tired of eating lunch at the mess hall if you can make _this._"

Riza secretly glows within, but what comes from her lips are the words, "Roy, please try to eat discreetly."

Roy doesn't answer, having just stuffed another forkful of stew in his mouth. He flails about with his other hand, making grandiose motions at the food. Riza laughs, for real this time.

In the chilling wind on the fire escape, the men rub their stomachs as the delicious smell of Riza's stew reaches their noses. Marie hands a few mints around, and Havoc mumbles something about being able to live on smokes.

The next bit of conversation rewards their wait.

"Are you happy, Roy?" Riza asks suddenly.

"Why the question?" Roy mutters lazily, sitting back with a sigh, having scraped clean the bowl before him.

"Because you said to me once before that if you could be one of the stepping stones to a great Amestris, you would be content." Riza tilts her head at him. "Are you now?"

Roy taps a finger by his fork. "I think the answer, if asked at any other time besides the present, would be 'no', but presently, the answer is an overwhelming 'yes'." He grins sleazily at her. "Not very coherent, was it?"

"You never need to be coherent for me to understand you," Riza says easily, standing to clear the plates and empty wine glasses. Roy scrambles to help, and after a pause, Riza lets him. Gathering her courage, she says to nothing in particular, "May I ask the reason why you would be so happy right now?"

"Because you're here with me," Roy says simply. His twinkling gaze dares her to challenge this.

At this, Maria hisses to her companions outside the window, _"I'm not intruding on this any further,"_ and promptly climbs down a level. The men, being giggling idiots, remain listening with glee. _"Why not?"_ Havoc murmurs down to her. _"This is great stuff. I'm using it for my future dates."_ Maria glares back up at him, growling in an undertone, _"I think it's rude to eavesdrop on a private conversation!"_ Finding that her glare is useless on Havoc, Maria turns instead to Brosh, whose shoulders slump. Brosh reluctantly joins her below the others, who snigger at his crestfallen expression.

Riza supresses the roiling emotions within her and manages to reply to Roy's words evenly. "I'm always with you. I'm your top aide, after all."

When she turns back, she finds her hand captured by his. "You know what I mean," he says gently.

"General, what are you doing?" Riza snaps, a momentary return to her usual self. She tries to withdraw her hand, unsuccessfully.

"Giving you a birthday present," Roy answers cockily, reaching for the last package. "Here." He places it in her free hand.

Riza feels the warm, heavy weight of it and places it on the coffee table to unwrap. The gleam of polished wood runs under her slim fingers. As she lifts the checkered object carefully out of the paper, Riza murmurs uncomprehendingly, "Your favourite chess set?"

Roy grins sheepishly, rubbing his ear. "I thought about what to get you. This was the most treasured thing I had." He finds his brain a bit fuddled from the wine.

Riza unclasps the latch on the oiled wood surface and unfolds the board, running a finger over the chess pieces nestled in velvet. "It's beautiful, but…this must have been in your family for generations."

"Well, yes," Roy admits, crashing into the sofa beside her. He scratches his head absentmindedly. "Doesn't mean that by giving it to you, I'll break the tradition." He freezes, his face flushing crimson, as he realises what he just said. "I…uh…" he stammers, looking everywhere, _anywhere_ but Riza's expression.

Watching through the crack in the window, Havoc's cigarette drops out of his gaping mouth. _"Did he just ask what I think he did?"_ Breda hisses in his ear. Havoc nods mutely. He didn't expect _this._ All the men around him have expressions of somewhat fluffy shock.

Riza takes a calming breath. "Roy…shall we forget what you just said?" she asks carefully.

"Yes!" Roy answers, far too quickly. "Sorry, I was being an idiot, I…" Aware that he is babbling, he hides the spasm in his hand by reaching for the chess set. "A quick game?"

"You'll win," Riza sighs.

"Not necessarily."

As the chess pieces move with velvety silence across the polished board, Roy stumbles out a question. "Riza, which do you think is the most important piece on the board?"

"Why, the king, of course," Riza answers. "All the pieces on the board exist to protect the king." Her soft gaze, holding his, shows she understands the conversation beyond what their words seemingly mean.

"Ah, but he king himself is essentially powerless without those around him," Roy grins, pushing forward a pawn. His moves are not nearly as clean as usual. His mind is elsewhere, in a separate world created by metaphors. "Guess again."

Riza shrugs. They play on for a while. Their hidden colleagues outside shiver on.

But then Riza murmurs contemplatively, "The knight, then. He who strikes without warning." Her knight jumps forward and to the left, knocking away one of Roy's pawns. "Champion of the king."

Roy grins down at the board. "Yes, the knight is powerful." His fingers hover over his own knight. "But far more deadly is the queen." His queen, carved exquisitely out of white wood, darts diagonally to swallow Riza's knight.

"Why would that be?" Riza speaks past the lump in her throat.

Roy strokes the wood with a finger. Neither of them is moving the pieces anymore. Instead, Riza listens with rapture, both elbows on the table, supporting her chin. Her eyes hold an intelligent light. Roy dry-swallows. "The queen," he begins hoarsely, fingering the piece, "is the one who protects the king. Should the king lose his queen" – here, he meets Riza's gaze intensely – "he would usually lose the game."

"Ah, but the queen would be useless should the king perish," Riza motions gently at her own queen, standing sentinel by the king. She leans forward, challenging him to deny it. "I still believe the queen should treasure the king the most."

"Yes, but the king is as good as dead should the queen leave him," Roy's voice rings out in determination. He half-rises. "The king cannot survive without the queen, and neither can the queen live without him."

"They depend on each other for survival," Riza murmurs, gazing unblinkingly at Roy. She is somewhat surprised to see their hands are linked on the table. Roy reaches dazedly for her chin.

"Yes, we do," Roy whispers back. Their heads are but a foot away from each other by now. Already, alarm bells are ringing in both their minds, but in Roy's case, his brain has turned to mush, and Riza finds herself happily frozen, her eyes half-closed. As if in a dream, Roy leans closer…

…and his gaze falls on a wisp of smoke curling through the cool air outside the window.

Riza turns with his stare and sees the same thing, immediately understanding. When they swivel back to each other, they both jump at how close their faces are. Roy hurriedly drops Riza's hand and makes a random motion with his own self-consciously. Riza clears her throat and turns away. In that moment when her gaze leaves his, Roy drops his head and facepalms dejectedly.

Avoiding each other's gazes, but with the same mission in mind, they rise from the table and turn toward the window. At Riza's whispered word, Hayate darts forward and noses the window completely open.

Under the window ledge, Havoc and the others are still reeling from what they have just heard and seen. Hyperventilation, apparently, is the new trend. Havoc's frenzied inhalations and exhalations send the smoke from his newly-lit cigarette curling spectacularly through the air.

The group of hardened military men shrink back in fear as they hear footsteps approach the window, now fully open. "Come, Hayate," they hear Riza call lightly. A scrabbling sound can be heard as Hayate returns to his master. Havoc heaves a sigh of relief, rising slightly from his crouch so his ash-blond hair pokes above the level of the windowsill–

PHWOAR.

Fire. Twisting, roaring, laughing insanely with power, the flames dance out of the window in a concentrated burst of pure energy, crisping the air above the men with an almost unbearable heat. Yellowed fingers feel for their faces, withdrawing just before the men are burnt, yet drawing the moisture from their lips and blinding them with incandescence. This is true _fire,_ the ancient element that dances to its own melody, and if uncontrolled, rules supreme with macabre power, sucking the colour out of the world around them, bleaching reality until all one can see are the beautiful, waltzing tongues of fire. And these iridescent flames serve Roy Mustang.

The flames cease with a strangely hollow _pop._

Jean Havoc stops trembling, and blinks rapidly, trying to draw breath into his scorched lungs. His cigarette has already burned to crisp. Unbidden, tears flood his eyes and pour down his cheeks, and he bends over, hacking. Dimly, he registers that the others around him are doing the same. When he has somewhat recovered, he raises his head to find something even more terrifying.

Roy Mustang stares impassively back at Havoc, dark eyes narrowing into slits, one white-gloved hand still raised, the fingers prepared to click. Behind him, Riza has one hand to her mouth, as if struggling between screaming at him and laughing. Her shoulders shake.

One moment, that could be Havoc's last, or one of many to come.

"Major. All of you." Roy's voice is dangerously cool, like champagne edged with poison. "Explain yourselves."

Behind Havoc, the rest of the group scramble to their feet, nursing singed noses or watering eyes. They stand to attention smartly, and Armstrong bashes his head against the next level of the fire escape. Maria and Brosh, the only two unscathed, climb up next to them. They all have the unmistakable look of cornered prey in their eyes.

Roy puts his arms behind his back and draws himself up impressively, frying them with a glare that could rival even his deadliest strikes of flame alchemy.

Seven people quail. One man produces a huge box at least three feet wide from nowhere with a magician's flourish. "We brought cake! Happy Birthday!" Havoc declares sheepishly. Maria stares at him from behind, as if wondering where in the world he could have hidden it all this time.

Silence. Then Roy growls with a tremor-inducing snarl, "What on earth were you–" he is cut off by a warm hand on his arm. He looks down at the dainty fingers made rough by many battles, and follows the smooth arm up to Riza's grin. That smile is a masterpiece. It conveys gratitude, it conveys humour, but most of all, it holds a thinly veiled threat.

_General Roy Mustang, do not punish them, or I will make your life a living Hell,_ Riza's soft brown eyes tell him.

Roy feels his knees weaken.

Moving past him and pushing him behind her with a casual motion, Riza smiles graciously at the eight shivering people outside the casement, and says, "Do come in. It must be freezing out there."

"Thank you," Havoc mumbles through dry lips, half-climbing, half-falling into the room.

"Could you please take the cake, General?" Riza calls over her shoulder, extending a hand to help the others in. Maria dips her head apologetically at Riza, but Riza shakes her head in dismissal of it.

Moving in a strange daze, Roy takes the cake off Havoc's shaking hands and places it on the table. Then he turns and watches Riza close the window behind Brosh, completely unaware of Havoc's rapid hisses to his friends, _"See? I told you I had a backup plan!"_

Riza turns from rearranging the curtains to give Roy a pointed look. Roy understands and moves to the side as she faces the others. "Thank you," Riza says, "for this lovely surprise." She tilts her head at Havoc, before smiling a crocodile smile. "Havoc. Your hair is on fire."

Havoc's shrieks and flailings are drowned out by the general laughter.

Roy doesn't say anything as the others bustle about, finding plates for cake and candles, but when nobody is watching, Riza slips her hand in his and murmurs quickly in his ear, "Let them be. They mean well."

Roy nods and tries to hold on to her hand, but she darts away to the others. He smiles one of his rare smiles at them, though something in his heart stirs. _Regret? No, it couldn't be._ But as the group of nakama revel long into the night, and Riza's enchanting laughter rings out again and again, Roy knows he would give anything to have seen the smoke outside the window a minute later than he had.

**I don't know, was that good enough? I'm worried I don't do Royai justice. Eeep. Am I evil to leave you there for the week? Sorry, I tend to revel in these things. I'll develop the story further next week. See you all, and please review.**


	3. Taken

**Yay, new chapter. Apologies in advance if this chapter is a little crazy, but I'm going mad over summer work and I'm pretty much venting all the madness into this fic. But this is fun, so whatever. Enjoy. I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of its characters.**

**Jessie Lane: Thank you so much! It's quite hard to subtly balance Roy and Riza's relationship. They talk in code all the while, but it's quite enjoyable to write about. Hope you like this chapter!**

**to overcome reality: Thanks for reviewing! To have someone tell me that is really encouraging **

**Kitsune-Blue: Yeah, close, but just not close enough. Pity. Thanks for reviewing, and enjoy.**

**Lonely Soldier, Taethowen, icequeen89, Ouchness, VamptasticalVampire, RescuePatrol98: Thanks for noticing this story!**

The Fuhrer's private garden is almost disgustingly pretty in the early winter air.

Elegant hedges cut in equally quaint forms, precisely shaped; winter flowers with garish petals that compliment each other in violent shades of pink and purple and blue, simpering fountains and gaudy pagodas, wrought-iron benches painted sable. Green lawns with grass shorn just short enough to cover boot-toes, too well maintained to look natural for the start of winter. It is the garden of one with plenty of power and no sense of taste, the colours too contrived, the hedges too neat, like a military force bedecked in flouncy formal dress, flowers for medals and chess pieces for weaponry.

As he paces between the hedges to Fuhrer Grumman's table, Roy tries not to barf, and only one thought runs through his mind:

_This must be the garden's natural state, considering its owner cross-dressed for a covert meeting._

Roy shivers imperceptibly. The horror of that meeting is still fresh within his mind. He doubts whether it will ever fade.

A few paces behind him, Riza smiles the tiniest of smiles. The way Roy lengthens his stride could only mean an unpleasant, if not embarrassing, memory. She nods at the two guards on either side of the small flight of marble steps leading up to the delicate pagoda in which Grumman lounges back on his chair, fingering a chess piece. Surprisingly, Havoc stands by him, pointing at a piece of parchment and muttering something.

Roy's black coat flaps about his ankles, shadow chasing shadow, as he steps quickly up to the Fuhrer. "Sir," he says respectfully, inclining his head. Riza does the same, and Havoc returns both their nods with a cigarette-adorned grin.

For a moment, Grumman remains staring at the smooth surface of the wooden king in his fingers, and then he turns bespectacled eyes to the two of them. For a moment, his warm, yet intelligent gaze flits over Riza's, and something sparks within the grey irises, a familiar gleam; as if she is a long-lost relative.

Riza blinks, and Grumman is already looking past her to Roy. Dismissing the matter, Riza stands straighter and focuses all her attention on the proceedings. Havoc begins to methodically order the papers

"Ah, Mustang!" Grumman exclaims warmly. "Come! Sit, sit, a chess game with an old friend, perhaps? It's been far too long."

"I won't win, sir," Roy replies with a grin, but he slides into the chair opposite Grumman anyway. "Your orders?" he asks casually as he nudges forward a pawn.

"Oh, far from that!" Grumman laughs breezily, his spectacles quivering. He pushes forward a pawn of his own. "More…a favour." He pauses.

"And that would be?" Roy asks evenly, musing over his next move.

"I would appreciate it if you remain in Central for a few more weeks." At Roy's questioning glance, Grumman grins. "You know your subordinates well" – again, that half-glance in Riza's direction – "and you care about them. So, if you could inspect the military academy and headquarters here, aid in training the cadets, and find what irks or encourages the soldiers, I could act upon your suggestions and better raise morale. Major Havoc here has been aiding me on this matter."

Roy ponders this for a while, not caring where his glove pushes the chess pieces. "Very well," he murmurs. "I shall remain until the report is finished."

"Excellent, excellent," Grumman says heartily, and turns his attention once more to the chessboard. "Why, you must be distracted today, General," he chuckles. To Roy's embarrassment, Grumman teases his knight forward and takes Roy's queen. Grumman's gravelly laughter rings forth. Havoc and Riza stare at Roy's expression together; it is most interesting.

After wresting his features into one of calm amusement, Roy nods and rises from his seat. "My apologies, sir, but I have to return to my office now." His face seems tinted a darker shade of pink than usual, but then again, it could be the warm sunlight striking his cheekbones from his right.

"So busy, General!" Grumman says mournfully. "We will never have another chance to complete a game!" As Roy dips his head and turns to leave, Grumman's voice, mockingly serious, leaves him one final piece of advice as he leans over his clasped hands. "Mustang, be sure to protect your queen in the future."

Roy halts mid-step. A certain quality in Grumman's words lends a different meaning to them. Roy wonders just how much Grumman knows, but simply replies lightly, "I'll do that."

After Roy passes her, Riza snaps her heels together and bids Grumman farewell in a respectfully distant voice, and swivels, blonde hair glinting in the afternoon light.

"Colonel," Grumman calls after her.

"Sir?" Riza enquires, turning on her heel to face him.

Grumman's next words jolt her to her core. "Your birthday was a week ago, was it not?"

"…Yes it was, sir. How did you know?" Riza asks in confusion. The crunching of Roy's boots on the grass stops behind her, and she knows he is listening hard.

"No matter." Grumman waves his hand dismissively. "Allow me to wish you – How do they say it nowadays? – Happy belated birthday." His tone is warm.

Riza forces herself to act. "Thank you, sir," she replies swiftly, wiping her features blank to stop her bewilderment from showing. "You are too kind."

Grumman smiles, and turns back to Havoc, who quickly changes his own expression to one free of surprise.

As Roy and Riza fade away between the hedges, Grumman settles back in his chair and sighs heavily.

"…Sir?" Havoc asks hesitantly.

"Ah, yes," Grumman exclaims, straightening again. For a moment, he examines the sheet of paper before him, and then suddenly says sharply, "Major, you know them both well, yes? What do you think of Colonel Hawkeye?"

Taken by surprise, Havoc founders about for an answer, then stammers, "Well…I think she's…a very successful soldier."

Grumman nods slowly. "Yes," he mutters. "She has risen to the upper ranks incredibly quickly. But why does she continue to serve under General Mustang? If she continues to be his aide, she cannot rise higher than the rank of Brigadier-General."

Havoc starts. "I…wouldn't know, sir," he says carefully. _I do know the reason, but I'd rather not say._

Grumman gazes down at his intertwined fingers, and murmurs, almost to himself, "I'm very proud of her."

"Sir?"

"Where were we in terms of the report? Is there anything in particular which the soldiers dislike?" Grumman's snaps, blunter than usual.

"Ah…" Havoc falters, going pink in the face. "There _is_ another issue I've found…" He gulps in a quick breath.

Grumman's thin lips curve in amusement. "Humour me, Major."

Havoc shines like a gold-topped crimson bauble. "The rule forbidding romantic relationships between members of the military…"

"Of course," Grumman sighs. "All you young people…very well. I shall commission the first Military Midwinter Ball."

Havoc's eyebrows rise with astonishment. "Sir?"

"That will encourage comradeship as well." Grumman smiles crazily. "Shall we get planning? I love parties. I'm sure many that I know will enjoy the opportunity." He glances once more at where his granddaughter, the granddaughter that only he knows is his, had stood. _Not even Mustang knows._ A gentle smile.

_Grumman_, Havoc reflects, _is rather eccentric in his habits. But what is his connection to Colonel Riza?_

(:~:)

A day later, Roy stares woefully at the cadets of the Central City Military Academy. The cadets spin about each other, sparring with a variety of weapons, some moves quick but weak, some slow but powerful. Roy muses over how in a real battle, either way, the cadets would get a sword in the gut or a knife in their jugular.

Rather depressing, really.

A voice, wonderfully sharp. "General."

"Yes, Colonel?" Roy mutters out of the corner of his mouth, remaining fixated on the messy forms of the cadets. His gloves, so delicately etched with symbols, fit snugly to his nimble fingers. The light glances off his unruly hair and over his high-collared black coat, sinking into the comfortable shadows, and he stands tall in a manner that bespeaks power yet conveys a restrained irritation.

"At least try to _appear_ interested, will you?" Riza hisses from beside him, standing poker-straight, arms behind her back. "You look like you would at a dog show."

"I _am_ at a dog show," Roy mumbles, eyelids dropping half-closed. "They might as well be doing tricks." He motions lazily with a finger. "How long have they been here?" he asks the head of the academy, Brigadier-General Branson, gloomily.

"Two weeks, sir," Branson answers emotionlessly. It is the voice of a man who does not like being commanded by a younger man than himself.

"They're performing excellently at two weeks," Roy comments. "You've taught them well."

"Thank you, sir," Branson says, eyes widening in surprise and gratification.

"If they could only see another demonstration, then they would be perfect," Roy continues. Branson nods vigorously in agreement.

Riza hides a smile at how well Roy plays the emotions of others. Then the smile slips from her face as she considers how he has influenced _her_ emotions. He hasn't manipulated her, however…his eyes hold a calculating intelligence, but warmth flares in them whenever they turn to her, like glowing coals that–

_Shut up,_ Riza chides herself. _You have a job to do._ "General!" she calls, raising her voice to reach him. "Shall I demonstrate how sparring is properly done?"

Roy, by this time, has sunk into a sort of stupor, so he jolts gently at her words. After a half-moment of blinking, he gestures blearily, "Very well, Colonel."

Riza takes off her coat and vaults nimbly over the railing into the sparring arena. The cadets watch her, some with barely disguised awe, as she crosses over to the weapons rack and selects two fine daggers. When she moves back into the centre of the arena, the cadets melt away before her until they form a wary circle around her.

"I need a sparring partner," Riza calls to the clustered cadets.

Credit to their intelligence, not a single cadet steps forward.

Riza turns to Roy.

"Me?" Roy says, in an indignant half-squeak that only Riza can decipher. Perhaps everyone else thinks he has just hiccupped. Roy stares into the gazes of fifty expectant cadets.

A voice breaks the silence. "It would be an honour, sir, for us to learn from you," says one of the cadets, a serious-looking girl in her late teens. "And from you, ma'am," she nods at Riza. Riza nods back graciously. Roy doesn't say another word, but something in the way he holds himself sets Riza's lips into a sly grin. She knows she has won.

Roy, to general applause, flings his coat and jacket aside, rolls up his shirtsleeves to just below his elbows, and leaps over the railing to join Riza. At her raised eyebrow, he sighs and removes his gloves, stuffing them into a cadet's hands. "Hold them," he commands shortly. The cadet's heels practically snap together as he accepts the gloves with shaking hands, his jaw dropping open as he registers the flame alchemy circle on the spotless white fabric. Ignoring this with supreme indifference, Roy stalks over to the weapons rack, selecting a long wooden staff. "I haven't used something like this in years," he mutters as he tests its weight.

"I may be relatively out of practice with these as well," Riza says airily, lifting her daggers. "Remember back when–"

Roy shouts as he dances back from the twin circles of grey metal that dart toward his throat. "Very well done, Colonel," he comments through the sudden pounding of his heart. "Distraction," – he raises his voice so the cadets can hear him – "is an extremely important skill. Strike first and without warning, while speaking if you can, and your enemy will not expect–"

Drawing a half-circle in the floor with his boots, Roy pivots effortlessly, the edge of his uniform flying out around him as he feints a strike to Riza's head and then reverses the staff down to her knees.

Unperturbed, Riza sways back from the first strike and, as if dancing, leaps onto the staff as it whistles toward her knees, bringing up her knives and swinging both toward either side of Roy's neck. Roy shifts his grip on the staff, and Riza has no choice but to flip over him, landing with predatory grace and reversing her hold on a dagger in a blindingly fast backhand slash to Roy's head. Her blonde hair tumbles over her shoulders, her hair clip having fallen off mid-air.

Roy steps back warily, watching the white glint of light travel down the dagger blade as it passes an inch before his eyes. An evil grin, cocky and jubilant, spreads across his features. Riza does the same.

By now, neither of them is speaking any more. The cadets watch in slack-jawed awe as Roy and Riza waltz in a deadly sequence of moves, placing their feet to hidden rhythms in a melody that only they can hear, where every accidental is a brush with death and every key change a new crescendo in the duel. In this dance, circled by the cadets and lit by harsh lights from above, their fight becomes one of devastating beauty; perfect in execution, like the sparks from fire that circle as fireflies in flight. Sweat drips from both their faces, but in their unending dance they step on, each move not frenzied, but calculated and elegant, advancing and retreating should their opponent do so.

But every game has a victor.

As he parries a low strike, Roy feels the smooth wood slip in his damp hands, allowing the staff to slip further toward the floor than he intends to. A small mistake, perhaps, one usually easily recovered from. But Riza simply swivels, blonde hair flying out from behind her head, and snaps a kick into the wood.

Roy's staff breaks in two with a hollow _crack._

As Roy stares at the spiked shards of wood in his hand, Riza brings both knives to his throat in an agile motion.

They stand frozen for a long while, a moment of unbroken perfection. Riza's daggers rest on Roy's collarbones. He gazes down at her, but his eyes do not hold anger; rather, a wry sort of laughter.

The cadets break into applause, their shouts like the thousands of cascading droplets in a waterfall. Brigadier-General Branson remains stock-still, staring at Roy and Riza in wonder. As the applause fades, Riza withdraws her knives and, with a flick of her wrists, hurl them both into a target. They sink into the bullseye with a metallic _cling._

Roy wets his dry mouth, and says hoarsely, "You said you were out of practice, colonel?" The two parts of wooden staff clatter to the ground at his feet.

Riza shrugs. "I said _relatively_, sir. You can't rely on alchemy all the time. What if your gloves get wet?"

Roy laughs. "To you goes the victory. You never stop finding new things to teach me, do you, Riza?"

It is only when he hears the sharp intake of breath from the circled cadets does Roy realise what he has just said.

Riza gives him her sharpest look of warning.

"Brigadier-General, I'm afraid we must go," Roy calls hastily to Branson, snatching his gloves out of a bewildered cadet's hands. "We must inspect other…elsewhere." Riza wordlessly follows the slightly pink Roy out of the arena, her face gloriously blank.

Only when their steps have faded down the corridor do the cadets begin to whisper. "_He calls her by her first name?"_ the mutterings flit after them. Then the whispering ceases as Brigadier-General Branson shouts in an earsplittingly loud boom that only years of military honing can produce for them to GET BACK TO WORK.

But it doesn't matter what Brandson tells the cadets. The seed of gossip is already planted, and Roy's scarlet face had just added water. And slowly, the secret will begin to grow, until it is no longer one.

(:~:)

In the cool late morning air, Roy decides to forget what just happened back in the Academy. Riza, by unspoken consent, seems to agree. They hadn't really spoken of what happened, or didn't happen, on the evening of her birthday. Havoc and entourage's appearance had embarrassed both of them far too much.

_With luck_, Roy thinks,_ our relationship can continue without others' interference._

Luck must really hate Roy Mustang.

When Roy returns to his office, and Riza as gone off to the shooting range, he finds a sheet of paper on his desk, a notice of some sort. He takes a sip of tea as he runs his gaze over the spiky runes.

And Roy spits out his tea.

On the paper, innocently and elegantly printed in dark lettering, now slightly smudged from the tea spattered across it, is an invitation for all members of the military.

To a Midwinter Ball. That Roy is required to attend. That Roy is required to attend _with a date._

A sense of impeding doom swamps Roy Mustang, but he does not know just how doomed he is until later, when he steps out of his office to the unified screams of a hundred girls. Women in smart military uniforms, bright-eyed, huddle in groups, discussing their expected dates with an insane amount of giggling. Men walk by, some with looks of barely disguised panic on their features, some striding with calm confidence. Due to the fewer numbers of women than men in the military, should male soldiers want a date from within the military, they will have to ask _quickly._

As luck would have it, or would _not_ have it, Roy runs into Riza in the centre of the corridor. One look into her dark brown eyes tells him that she knows about the Ball, too.

_Oh…crap._

Roy is acutely aware of the slight dampening in the volume of giggling around them as the closest groups turn to watch the two of them with interest. News from the Military Academy travels fast, it seems.

Riza breaks the awkward pause by murmuring, "Apologies, General. I have somewhere else to be." She doesn't meet his eyes. Roy nods, and she brushes past him before he can even open his mouth. Disappointed sighs sound from a dozen girls around him. Roy growls and stalks forward resolutely.

He notices something else as he navigates his way through the winding passageways. Left, right and centre, he can see couples forming. He can feel his breakfast rising in his stomach already, but for some strange reason, none of the girls turn toward him. In all Roy's years of dating, not once has he been ignored. He doesn't like this at all. _It's almost as if…as if I'm already taken._

The next sequence of thoughts that run through Roy's head go as such:

_Taken?_

_I'm not! I haven't been in a relationship for a long while now!_

_I'm not taken!_

_Am I?_

Roy snarls as he reaches the entrance to the archives and slams the door shut behind him, revelling in the calm as the solid wood door mutes the screams of _"Kyaaaaaaa!" _behind him. He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath.

A voice, laced with humour, asks in mock concern, "General?"

Roy's eyes snap open to find a blonde-haired, young face grinning at him with a cigarette in its mouth.

"Needed to escape, didn't you, sir?" Havoc drawls exquisitely.

"It's…rather loud outside. And I needed to check some records," Roy says defensively. A sudden suspicion strikes him. "Was all…_this_," – he motions behind him – "your idea?"

Havoc returns to the ledger he had been examining. "No, not mine. Fuhrer Grumman's." A rakish grin.

"Grumman…" Roy blanches. "Of course. This entire thing is just like him."

"You asked anyone yet, General?" Havoc asks casually.

"No," Roy replies shortly.

"Do you intend to?" Havoc asks wilily.

"No – I mean, I don't intend to yet," Roy amends. He stares at the spines of the faded books on the shelf like he wants to torch them to ash with alchemy.

Havoc chuckles as he turns to go, a stack of books in his arms. "Pity, General. You need to move quickly, or all the pretty ones will be taken. I'm sure…everyone expects you to ask _someone."_

Roy doesn't at all like Havoc's emphasis on the last word.

"Good luck, General," Havoc laughs, as he shoulders open the door and disappears in a blast of squealing from the mob outside.

Roy gently returns a book to the shelf, then leans forward and places his hot forehead against the cool metal of the bookcase, shutting his eyes to the sudden migraine that has sprung up behind his temples. As much as he hates to admit it, for once, Havoc is right.

Alone in the dark archives, Roy Mustang curses.

(:~:)

Riza eats methodically, glancing at the sheaf of papers by her hand. She has chosen the smallest, tiniest table in the darkest corner of the mess hall, all other parts of it being even more crowded than usual. Usually, her focus is impeccable, but now, she finds her thoughts straying unacceptably to the Midwinter Ball. When she had found the announcement tacked to the billboard in the shooting range, it hadn't bothered her at first. Then she had realised that as a colonel, she is expected to go, and so needs a date. It is unquestionable who that should rightly be, but when she had chanced upon the aforementioned person in a crowed hallway, he had said nothing.

Riza fights down an unknown emotion within her that tastes suspiciously like disappointment. Sighing, she looks up from her food – made more unappetizing by her mood – and examines those around her.

Really, an insane amount of idiocy and insubordination is showing in the energetic faces of the Amestris Military. Many acts would be unseen by untrained eyes, but with her sharp gaze, Riza sees everything. The hidden bottles of alcohol that are passed under the tables to waiting hands of already inebriated soldiers, who down mouthfuls of beer before slamming their glasses down on the table and sauntering over to whichever date they want to ask; the silent exchange of money as bets are placed, won and lost; the sullen glowering of rejected soldiers who nurse small cups of what appears to be apple juice but what Riza knows must be brandy. And she hears a smattering of laughter over the clink of cutlery at the crowded tables, an ordered chaos of a harmony.

Over on the other side of the room, Denny Brosh, looking like a very adorable shiny beetroot, stammers something unintelligible to Maria Ross, who gazes at him contemplatively for a moment, and then nods. A ridiculously happy expression flits across Brosh's face, and when that mixes with embarrassment, gives him the features of one who as just been sledgehammered over the head. Brosh slides next to Maria in a happy daze, and Maria hides a smile. Fuery, Falman, and Havoc slap Brosh heartily on the back as they bring their trays over to join them.

Everyone happy.

Except _her_.

Riza picks at her food, and stabs a piece of vegetable vehemently, as if she holds some personal grudge against it.

The corner of a tray enters her vision, held securely by two white-gloved hands. They waver uncertainly, and then a small voice asks, "Is this seat taken?"

Riza shakes her head numbly, hiding her elation by sipping her mug of coffee.

Roy wordlessly slides into the seat opposite her, and reaches for his fork. The first mouthful is the worst; it sticks in his dry mouth and glues his lips together. In truth, his brain is working overtime, and he runs over his options with a hurried drumbeat in his ears. Once again, Roy notices how the nearest groups of people try to inconspicuously lower their volume of speech, ironically making their attention all too conspicuous.

"Are you going, then?" Roy asks suddenly, not taking his eyes off his fork.

"Going where?" Riza replies a little too sharply.

"The Midwinter Ball," Roy swallows nervously, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Riza's long fringe covers her eyes as she delicately lifts up another forkful. "I don't know," she answers softly. "No one has asked me yet."

Roy chokes on a mouthful, and gulps water hastily. He finds Riza, as usual, impossible to read. His nerve flutters, and fails again.

Havoc, watching the two of them from across the mess hall with his clear, intelligent eyes, lights a fresh cigarette. What he sees isn't very interesting. The two subjects of his scrutiny do nothing. Rather, they eat somewhat mechanically, avoiding each other's eyes. Havoc sighs and slaps the table. At his friends' questioning glances, he mutters evilly, "I'm going to give them some encouragement." His friends follow his gaze, and simultaneously break into grins, nudging each other.

Havoc plunges his hands in his pockets and ambles his way around the groups of people toward Roy and Riza's table, a look of singular determination on his youthful face.

Roy glances up from examining the wood grain on the table to find Riza looking over his shoulder with a slightly worried expression. Roy swivels and feels a tap-dancing in his stomach. Havoc ignores him as he steps towards them, one eye closing in a sly wink at Riza, his stride confident.

Roy's brain turns into a million sharp shards of mirrored glass. In each fragment, a wordless scream resounds. _He isn't!_ Roy thinks frantically. _He knows I – he can't ask Riza! What does he think he's–_ Before he knows what his body is doing, Roy finds himself on his feet, his chair screeching loudly and his hands flat on the table as he leans toward Riza, and all in one desperate breath, gasps, "_Riza will you do me the honour of coming to the Midwinter Ball with me_."

Riza's molten brown eyes, fixated with apprehension on the approaching Havoc – an appropriate name in more than one way – turns to him with surprise. And then, oh glory be, she smiles at him. "I would like that very much, General," she replies, looking him squarely in the eyes with heart-stopping sincerity.

Roy blinks a few times as he processes this. "Uh…wonderful!" he exclaims. "Look forward to it…yes, do carry on…I need to go back to my office now." And with that, Roy Mustang _scampers_ back to his office through the now whooping and giggling mob, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. Through the almost empty corridors, he steps, slowly at first, then with increasing speed as his heart slowly unclenches itself and begins to beat again.

To any soldier who comes upon him, Roy has a crazily jubilant smile on his face.

Havoc grins as he stops by Riza's elbow. Riza is still staring after Roy, her features soft. "Colonel," Havoc says lightly, "Don't sit here alone! Come and eat with us." Riza blinks and shakes her head, as if throwing off some reverie, and allows Havoc to carry her tray over to the others, who break into applause, having watched the entire thing with considerable interest.

Through a small window in the side of the mess hall, Grumman watches his granddaughter's smile, and throws back his head laughing. _All going to plan._ _Oh, this is going to be a marvellous game, indeed._

**Good chapter? Okay, I have something to say. You're probably all going to kill me for this. I've got University camp for the next two weeks, so I can't post, but I WILL POST THE WEEK AFTER. Because I want to find out what happens as much as you do, and I write very, very fast when I'm like that. (That's always) Sorry, and PLEASE DON'T KILL ME.**


	4. Waltz

**AND HERE COMES THE SUPER-LONG A/N:**

**Yay, I'm back! Sorry about the wait. I've tried to meddle with emotions in this one – hope it works, because for those of you who have read A Charade of Flames and A Masquerade of Shadows, I tried to make this as adorable as Tyki and Evelyn, and I'm not sure whether it worked. GAAAAH! INSECURE! Yeah, just tell me what you think, ok? I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of its characters.**

**to overcome reality: Thanks for reviewing! I think you'll like this one **

**Angelellbaby: Thanks for liking the comedy. This chapter is slightly more serious but there are tidbits thrown in for laughs.**

**AwesomeCoolPerson: You are your name. Laughter, I think, goes great with Royai. Roy just doesn't know how to act **

**Jesse Lane: Thanks for the good wishes! I had great fun at university camp. The labs there are amazing. You'll see more of Panic!Roy in this one.**

**Kitsune-Blue: I fixed the glitch with Roy's question. ARGH. I hate it when doc manager does something to your writing. Thanks for reminding me.**

**theonceandfuture: MERLIN FAN! YEAH! (you are one, right? 'cause it would be awkward if you weren't…) Poetry, I love. Working it into a fic…I love best.**

**Inma: Don't worry, your English is fine. Chappie's here! Hope you like it **

**Guest: Hey, write your name so I know whom to thank! Thank you very much for reviewing **

**THANK YOU TO THE FOLLOWING FAVORITERS AND FOLLOWERS:**

**Winly Elric, ItalianRose5, 1j1mog6, ReaderOfStories15, , qu33n0fk1ng5, joanamideria, seeweedfma, franziga, midnightsunraieye, WibblyLights, The Raven's Daughter, Wolf By Night, Moriko Takahashi, Oceankin, checkerboard-pinapple, Voceen, AmoebazFantasy.**

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**Ok, I think that's it…Enjoy.**

Midwinter's day dawns misty and cool, the air just frosty enough to bite, but the snow fresh enough to crunch underfoot as Roy ploughs his way through the crystal-laden paths of the white-velveted park towards Central Headquarters.

Overhead, Night, clad in sable-winter's coat adorned with diamond stars, flips his top hat lined with purple velvet, winks one golden eye at Day, bends over her hand in a graceful motion, and dances away on agile boots as she waltzes after him, her winter dress of feathered innocence, each fibre melding into the other like snowflakes flowering on her sleeves and the glitter of dew on her eyelashes, the edges of her dress spinning in glorious crimson and gold, incandescent, afire below the cold beauty of Day, who sings with her laughter of birdsong, as Night chuckles with the last warble of the blackbird and whistles back in the duet that brings daylight to Amestris.

An uncontrollable grin spreads on Roy's features as he brushes the dark strands of hair out of his face, allowing the icy wind to caress his cheek. He fancies he hears music in the world today, in every rustle of the brown leaves below the trees, in the winter melodies of the birds about him, hidden in the trees that somehow retain their elegance with their mantle of snow about their shoulders, graceful forms of willow and ash about him. Roy halts for a moment, the soft _crunch-crunch_ of his boots on ice crystals stilling, and _listens._

Quiet. True, complete silence, where even the birds have muted their singing. Roy closes his eyes and allows it to fill him. And with this perfect moment, he finds silence is not the absence of sound after all; rather, it allows him to listen to the integral melodies around him, humming below his feet and whirling in stringed chords in the sky above. What Roy hears is not blank or void; his mind is like a pure piece of parchment, waiting to be filled with tunes and lyrical strains to build an orchestral melody, painting his path forward...and he knows whom he wants to make music with.

And Roy Mustang, for the first time after the Ishval war, finds himself at peace with the world around him. He would like to remain there forever, but he has work to do.

And a date after.

So when Roy strides into his office a few minutes later with a slightly wondrous expression on his face, Havoc shuffles the papers in his arms and asks breezily, "May I ask what you're thinking of, General?"

Roy snaps out of his reverie with a glare in Havoc's direction sharp enough to scythe clean through that untamed blonde hair. "Nothing at all."

"As usual." Havoc shrugs off Roy's snarl and continues easily, "And these papers are for you, _sir._" He places the papers on the edge of Roy's desk.

Roy's expression shows that Havoc's hasty cover-up for his careless remarks are not working. Seeing the approach of much grovelling, Havoc touches his hand to his temple and darts off without any more elaboration, though he does take the time to holler back at Roy, "And Colonel Riza wanted me to tell you she's taken the day off work to prepare for the ball."

As Havoc's chuckles fade down the corridor, Roy sighs, sheds his coat, and collapses into his chair, ignoring its protesting _creak._ This sends wheedling little doubts about his weight flitting through his mind, and as he struggles to fight these off, another stray tendril of thought halts his breathing and injects his veins with lead.

_Riza needs a DAY to prepare? Of course, of course, she wants to look perfect…_

Roy squeezes his eyes shut. _But…where does that leave me?_

There are a few things men do when trying to prepare themselves for a high-society ball. They take out their best clothes, and in this case, military uniform; They ask their friends and colleagues for advice as to what to say when they pick up their dates, in the vain hope that they will find someone who isn't half as clueless as they are; _Flowers?_ Then of course, the constant feeling of suspense twisted in their throats, as if they are forever strangled by one single thought: That however much they prepare, however immaculate their clothing and suave their mannerisms, how spotless their gloves or how charming their smile, _they will always look like idiots._

The key word in preparation is _trying_, after all.

As this last, rather depressing, thought bleeds out of Roy's mind like a final few drops of crimson lifeblood, he faceplants onto the smooth walnut surface of his desk with a _plunk_. He hates feeling useless. It's not something he's used to. But lately, he finds he's been feeling so far too often. And still, one single, terrible question still reverberates in his skull: _What if I don't live up to Riza's expectations?_

_Hide. Grovel. Die._ Not the best options.

After a long while, Roy straightens up and reaches for the papers Havoc had left on his desk, pulling the first sheet towards him as he blearily rubs his eyes with his free hand. Before he can stop himself, he lets out a comical groan. Why would Grumman want to see him _today?_ _And another thing…_Roy's eyes narrow in contemplation. Snatching up his coat, he sprints to the door and slams it behind him.

Grumman owes him some answers.

(:~:)

In the flickering half-light of a too-warm hearth, Grumman sighs as he glares down at the sheaf of papers in his lap. He has feigned strength by continuing his work, but the coming of winter has stripped away this façade, piece by piece, until his age is there for all to see, slowly growing on his visage like the first bite of frost that draws on his breath and makes it shallow, the first snowfall that turns to ice and sets his features into the hard mask of age. This is the true winter. One from which spring will never truly awaken.

Grumman's thin lips stretch in the ghost of a smile. He is Fuhrer of Amestris, and still, he cannot escape the last gate, one which all must pass. How ironic. This brings his mind to matters of more importance…his granddaughter. He cannot bear to leave without her knowing about him, or at least _someone_ knowing.

A polite knock at the door has Grumman turning in his chair. "Enter," he calls, in a voice far too frail for his liking.

Roy inclines his head respectfully as he steps into the chamber. "Good morning, sir." He examines the shadowy walls with his ever-perceptive gaze. The room is so stiflingly dark that the words that have just left Roy's mouth seem inappropriate for the occasion. This is a place where true light will never reach. It is as if Grumman has sealed himself up, hiding from all evidence that with each dawn and twilight, another precious day will slip from his fingers. And yet even in the sable silhouettes on the wooden floorboards, shadows crawl over the weak pools of lamplight like algae over clear water, stretching incarcerating fingers toward the lonely half-circle of firelight, by which an old man is seated, simply waiting for the inevitable.

Roy is startled to find Grumman's gaze still as sharp as ever as it meets his. That, at least, is one thing that will never be taken by time. But now there is understanding and sorrow in those eyes, and Roy finds himself for the first time realising that Grumman is not young anymore.

"Come in, General," Grumman calls dryly. As Roy stands to attention by his chair, Grumman makes an impatient noise in his throat and flicks at him with a wizened hand, gesturing to the chair opposite. "Sit, sit."

Roy doesn't move. Words tumble out of his lips. "You know Riza from somewhere before. You knew–" One glance from Grumman silences him. Grudgingly, with some hesitation, Roy lowers himself into the chair. He feels the questions boiling up in his throat, some phrased in shouts, others in the merest of whispers. But as befits his station, he folds his hands together and waits for Grumman to speak.

"Roy." Grumman rasps. Roy sits straighter, startled by the use of his first name. "Firstly," Grumman continues, "Stop jolting like a startled rabbit. And secondly, I am well aware of your many questions and supposedly great intelligence, but for this one time, _just shut up and listen_." There is nothing threatening in Grumman's tone. Just a sense of urgency brought on by rapidly lessening time.

A moment of silence. "…I'm listening, sir," Roy says, humbled.

Grumman nods in acknowledgement, his hands tightening on the parchment, no less weak than the frail sheets of paper. "Roy. I'm dying."

His blunt words strike Roy like a blow to the cheek. "Sir…surely…?" Roy exclaims, but he stops short. The shadow of mortality is all too evident in the face before him.

Grumman chuckles. "I'm very nearly there. And of course, the question of my legacy remains." He looks down at the sheaves in his lap, and is overwhelmed by a sudden urge to throw it all in the flickering flames. "I feel privileged to have witnessed this country undergo a change for better, and to have led it for the short time that I have." His face is cast in half-shadow, one side lit crimson by the fire and the other liquid sable. Roy's face is similarly illuminated, but while the scarlet incandescence serves only to sharpen the lines on Grumman's cheek, rather, it curves around Roy's unmarked chin, caressing it in its youth. Grumman stares into Roy's dark gaze, and declares with a wry grin, "I name you as my successor."

Roy's single visible eye widens in the warm light. He stands with a smooth motion, allowing his dark coat to flow about him and meld into the shadows. "Thank you, sir," he says, bowing.

Grumman rolls his eyes and waves Roy back to his chair. "You must follow this piece of advice." He raises a finger.

"Name it, sir," Roy murmurs, leaning forward in his chair.

"Don't be an insensitive idiot, and make an effort to show that you care for your subordinates."

Roy blinks and opens his mouth to retort, but Grumman beats him to it.

"That," – Grumman raises a finger – "is what you need to become a good Fuhrer. But to become the _best_ Fuhrer," – his lips curve in a knowing smile – "pick a strong First Lady. A king cannot survive without his queen."

"Sir!" Roy groans. "This is not the time for humour! You've joked about my taking your granddaughter as First Lady before, but presently–" he stops, the words dying on his tongue as he stares at Grumman. Something suspicious about the way Grumman acted in their last meeting floats on the edge of Roy's consciousness, darting in an out of focus like prey toying with its hunter. He grasps at the solution, but to no avail, as it slips like oiled marble in his fingers. He knows the answer must be right before his eyes…and in his mind's intricate white folds of alternating shadows and clarity, Roy finds his answer.

Roy's eyes dart to Grumman's wry smile. "Of course," he breathes. "How could I have been so_ blind?"_ Fumbling with his words, Roy gasps, "Your granddaughter – it can't be – how – _Riza_?!"

Grumman watches Roy as if Roy is an idiot and nods slowly. "Finally. I was wondering how long it would take for you to realise," He growls amusedly. "Finished hyperventilating?"

"But _how?"_ Roy splutters, gripping the arms of his chair, eyes wide, panting with the effort of accepting this wonderful, shining, long-hidden secret, now secret no more.

Grumman's voice lowers in reminiscence. "When Riza's mother – my daughter – fell for Berthold Hawkeye, I did not approve of the match. Hawkeye was rather…radical in his choice of pursuits. His development of flame alchemy, for example…" Grumman notices Roy's stricken expression and sighs, "It was not your fault, Roy. You were his apprentice. He passed on what he knew to you."

"I know," Roy murmurs. "Please…continue."

"I did not speak to my daughter from the day she married to when she passed away a few years later. That…I much regret." Grumman gives a bitter smile. "When I learnt of Riza's birth, I wanted to see her…but I did not have the courage to set things right with my daughter. She did not tell Riza that she had a grandfather alive, and so Riza does not know of me."

For a while, all that can be heard is the _pop_ of coals bursting in the fire.

"Then…what do you intend to do?" Roy hazards, his voice hoarse. His gaze is shadowed.

"I have lived over twice your years, and yet I am still a coward," Grumman barks a laugh. "I cannot speak to her. Could you tell her? I would very much like to hear her call me Grandfather before I go."

"…I will. That…would be right." Roy nods.

"I have a question for you," Grumman's gravelly voice holds Roy in his chair, never releasing until an answer is given. "What do you think of Riza?"

"I love her." Roy surprises himself with the certainty in his words, and how ly they flow from him. He straightens, a new light entering his eyes, tasting the words. "I love Riza."

A sigh escapes from Grumman; one that rolls out of him as if it contains unbearable relief, leaving him relaxed and no longer tense. "Then all is well. I'm sure you know what to do now?" His gaze turns sharp, and Roy steels himself.

"Yes," Roy answers. He pauses. "Thank you."

"The pleasure is all mine."

Roy stands and bows deeply. He usually would salute, but in this instance, he finds this motion more appropriate. "Farewell, sir," he says. "You'll be attending tonight?"

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world," Grumman chuckles. "And Roy?" he calls, stopping Roy at the door. "Do try your best to impress her, will you? She _is_ a queen, after all."

Roy's sly smile winks at him as it disappears behind the closing door. "Of course. Who do you think I am?" His strong steps fade down the hall.

Grumman sighs and sinks back into his chair. "Perhaps I need some light after all," he murmurs, calling a servant to open the curtains. In the pool of watery winter sunlight, Grumman smiles. Perhaps the frost can still be delayed for a short while longer.

(:~:)

Clock strikes five-to-eight over Central City.

The snow crunches underneath the wheels of Roy's vintage car as he touches the gearstick and maneuvers the vehicle into a perfect halt in from of Riza's apartment building. Roy pulls the keys out of the ignition in a smooth motion, tucks them in his pocket, and shuts the door with a gentle _click._

Roy's pace is slightly hesitant as he darts up the steps, and he glances hurriedly at his pocket watch, straightening his cap. The doorman, an aged man dressed smartly in doorman's garb, grins imperceptibly at Roy's immaculate military uniform and spotless gloves. That, added to the slight air of desperation and twitching in Roy's hands, tells the doorman all; it is a combination he has seen all too often.

"Don't worry, sir, I'm sure she'll be impressed," the doorman calls after Roy.

Halfway down the hall, Roy spins on his heels and nods thanks at him, before turning with a graceful motion and continuing on his way. The doorman waits until the lift doors have closed over Roy's emotion-ridden face before he collapses in rather undignified laughter.

(:~:)

Riza's nimble fingers slip her second earring into place, and with that, she is done. Although even now, staring at herself in her full-length mirror, she still has her doubts. In the next room, a clock gently chimes eight o'clock. Riza closes her eyes. _It's almost time. He wouldn't be anything but punctual, so–_

The soft ringing of a doorbell, restrained, hopeful.

For a long moment, the sound washes around Riza in folds of alternating fire and ice, bringing both warmth and apprehension. She forces herself to take calming breaths, as she does in battle, when one movement could mean hitting her target or missing her chance.

She does not want to miss this chance. It could be her last.

So Riza Hawkeye strides easily over to the door and orders Hayate aside, his excited yips of recognition falling on her ears as if through water, from the other side of a dream. With firm fingers, Riza unlocks the door and swings it open fully.

Roy Mustang stares back at her, his face trying desperately not to turn scarlet. It settles on pink as Hayate bounds forward and tries to lick his hands.

"Roy," Riza murmurs, deciding to save Roy from the trouble of finding words. She glances at his long, navy military coat, a row of medals across the front, sable sash of silk and polished signs of rank on his shoulders, high collar intricately embroidered, and shadowed hair hansdomely slicked back over hopeful dark eyes.

"You spent quite a while preparing, I see," Riza chuckles wryly.

"Riza," Roy mutters back, taking in her silken white dress that draws in at her narrow waist and tumbles around her feet, accented by touches of silver at throat, wrists, waist and hem. A single sapphire on a silver chain hangs about her neck, and her hair falls about her shoulders, fringe held in place by a single silver clip.

"You look wonderful," Roy manages in a sort of strangled stutter.

"Thank you," Riza returns sweetly. Roy offers her his arm awkwardly, and she takes it with a graceful motion, shooing Hayate back into her apartment with her free hand. As she turns, Roy finds the broken tattoo on he back well-covered, and her movements light. Then they start off, steps in perfect sync, as if they are already dancing. Each one is quietly impressed by the other's apparent calm. In reality, both have hammering hearts. Riza glances down at Roy's gloved hand, and finds no fire circle upon the crisp white fabric.

A moment of confusion.

"I won't be needing alchemy tonight," Roy says offhandedly, as if reading her mind.

Riza understands; by hiding his fire seal, he has removed nearly all the signs that remind her of what is on her back; he has given her freedom. She gives his arm a warm press of thanks. Roy doesn't acknowledge the motion, but something softens in his smile, and his pace becomes slightly easier.

As Riza's dress rustles over the carpeted hall towards the waiting car, the doorman straightens imperceptibly and gives Roy a discreet wink. Roy grins and tosses him a coin from behind Riza's back. Riza pretends not to notice.

Outside, the air is chilled, but not bone-bitingly so. Rather, like fine champagne cooled to just the right temperature: refreshing, and holding a sweet scent of promise. Roy holds open the car door solemnly for Riza as she steps in, and she bites back a laugh as she catches his expression of intense concentration. His door closes with a _click_, and they are on their way.

Roy drives cautiously and with some trepidation at first, unsure whether Riza would be comfortable with the speeds he usually screeches along at.

Riza turns slowly in her seat and gives him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow, even as her lips curve in a mischievous smile. "Floor it," she commands simply.

A cocky grin spreads on Roy's features. "At your service." His gloved fingers touch the gearstick.

Smoke billows from the car's tyres as it leaps into motion, Riza and Roy's laughs forming a wonderful, unearthly harmony that flows out the windows and into the night.

(:~:)

The massive ballroom at Central Headquarters is lit with thousands of candles, burning brightly in chandeliers and in their brackets. The imposing building is obviously designed by someone obsessed with airy eaves and maple walls, carved pillar bases and polished wooden floors far too slippery for real dancing. The light flows in a widening bar from the open doors, tumbling down the white marble steps to the cars drawing up smoothly on the cobbles, glinting and sparkling off family heirlooms of diamond and ruby and lapis lazuli and sapphire and amethyst and emerald. Gold medal on silk ribbon on velvet lapel. The same candlelight, filtering through mist, as someone laughs, elegant hand on arm, boots and high-heels on marble, taffeta and gloria and satin, in every hue from cerulean to crimson.

Havoc shivers as he leans against a pillar by the solid ebony doors, hiding himself in the convenient pool of sable that seems to have dripped down one side of the pure white pillar, casting it in half-shadow. He rubs his hands against the bite of winter wind and laughs as it destroys the work he has so meticulously done to his hair, leaving it just as crumpled as it always is, casually spiked and humorously untamed.

The indiscreetly deafening revving of a car engine heralds Roy and Riza's arrival. Havoc turns and watches as, tyres screeching magnificently, the car sweeps in a glorious j-turn before Roy deftly handbrake parks, coming onto two wheels as the gust of wind blows snow in an unbroken wave into the two waiting valets. With supreme indifference, the more senior of the two valets brushes snow off his lapel, tucks his soggy hair behind his ears, and opens the passenger door. In an impossibly slick motion, the driver's door opens, and Roy darts out nimbly, flicking the keys at the soaking second valet, and elbows the senior valet aside, bowing as he hands Riza out of the car. She smiles sweetly at Roy, and he returns it with one of his own, offering her his arm.

The senior valet holds his ribs and tries to smile. "_Welcome,_ sir and madam," he grunts through clenched teeth. He knows who they are just by the signs of rank on Roy's shoulders. "I'll inform the announcer of your arrival." Limping slightly, the valet tries unsuccessfully to return to the smooth pace that all in service perfect as he staggers, unaware, past a smirking Havoc to the double doors.

Havoc watches Roy as he whispers something to Riza and she throws back her head and laughs. That, and the moonlight that seems to cling to them in warm incandescence, lends their movements a shine and their laughter a melodious duet. As they pass Havoc's pillar, Havoc ducks behind the marble, but he can swear Roy glances in his direction, a momentary frown appearing on his brow, before he turns back to Riza as they pass into the warmth. Together, they are perfect. Unlike Havoc and his girlfriend.

Havoc's date hadn't turned up.

Havoc isn't that upset, not really. He had known it wasn't working, but for her to just _disappear…_ Havoc gives a faint snort as he considers the oak floors of the ballroom behind him. He had stepped on to them a few minutes ago, and his feet had found about as much friction as silk on ice. He wouldn't be surprised if Grumman had ordered the floors triple-waxed just for a laugh.

Just as well that all dancing there tonight would be trained military personnel.

Havoc frowns. Another matter. Grumman had appeared well enough the last few times Havoc saw him, but it is only a matter of time… A barking laugh escapes him, quickly stolen by the twirling stars above. "Why, freezing outside a ballroom without a date, thinking heavy thoughts?" he murmurs to himself. "I must be becoming a hopeless romantic."

A voice, warm in the cold air. "I think it's rather adorable."

Havoc turns, mouth half open to explain, but the words die on his lips. He barely recognises the girl standing before him in a lush silk dress, hair pinned up in the most prettily innocent manner. He leans back against the pillar, arms folded, and examines her.

"I know you." The words escape Havoc before he can stop himself. "You helped Brigadier-General Hughes before the revolution with your photographic memory, didn't you?" _Her name, her name…_ "Private Sheska?" The last few words contain barely concealed surprise.

"Sergeant Major now, Major Havoc," Sheska replies blushingly, embarrassed.

"You…look different." Havoc mutters, before mentally facepalming himself. Without her glasses and her schoolgirl hair, Sheska is unrecognisable. Dressed in a simple floor-length dress and with her hair up, she even holds herself differently, with more confidence. And judging by the incredible rise in rank from Second Private, she has not been wasting the last two and a half years.

"Thank you, Major Havoc, sir," Sheska says, her cheeks scarlet.

"Drop the _sir_ and call me Jean," Havoc murmurs, half in a dream. "Why are you out here and not inside?"

Sheska looks away, twisting her fingers together, a momentary return to her old self. "My date didn't show up," she confesses, as if it is something so shameful, it tarnishes her family name.

Havoc finds himself laughing before he knows what he is doing, a real, unrestrained laugh without bitterness or anger. "That makes two of us," he chuckles. He straightens, pushing off the pillar, and offers his hand to her. "Shall we go in anyway? You look like you need a drink."

With some trepidation, Sheska takes his hand. She finds it warm and reassuring beneath his glove. "I'm not good at drinking," Sheska mutters, chewing on the fingernails of her free hand.

"Believe it or not, that makes it easier to enjoy yourself, Sheska," Havoc grins, leaning down to whisper to her as he leads her into the mellow light of the entrance hall, two doormen ushering them in. Sheska finds herself smiling in a crazed, fangirly way as Havoc's gentle hand on hers leads her into the ballroom, under crystal chandeliers, and onto the wooden floors. Havoc glances down at her and hides a grin. _She's different from the other women I've dated before_. _But why not? She's rather sweet. And impromptu dates…who knows? We may click._

Roy and Riza spot them from the other side of the hall, and as their gazes graze over one another, Havoc shoots them a wink. Riza rolls her eyes and smiles at him. Havoc grins back.

"I think Havoc's enjoying himself," Riza murmurs to Roy as he hands her a glass of champagne. "I certainly am." They move to a corner, where the press of people is lessened.

"This would be perfect, if I didn't have to act my place as General and greet every high-level guest," Roy hisses back, plastering on a fake smile as he mock-salutes a portly billionare waddling about, like a moving silk marquee, on the far side of the room. "What did that man have for lunch? An entire roast pig?"

Riza glances discreetly over her shoulder. "I don't think so. He wouldn't go so far as to eat his own kind."

Roy hides his very undignified snort by gulping a large mouthful of champagne. He catches Riza's wide smile and realises something. The change in his expression has Riza tilting her head at him. "Sorry," Roy says apologetically. "It's just that…for the first time since the war in Ishval…you're relaxed. You're enjoying yourself. You can't imagine how happy I am to see that."

Riza, who at first had jolted with surprise, now slowly sighs. "Thank you. You know me well."

Roy chuckles and glances away, grinning. "We _have_ been together for a long time–"

Riza breaks off his words by leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek.

Roy stares at her as his jaw hits the floor, crushing his toes and turning his knees to jelly. He thinks in unlikely he'll ever walk again. His heart, however, seems to have leaped into his ears. Riza's hand flies to her mouth, as if she realises what she has just done, and she glances about in embarrassment, terrified that they were seen. Fortunately, the dimness in that particular corner has hidden them from prying eyes, and nobody seems to have noticed except Maria Ross and Denny Brosh, who are about ten feet away. Denny gapes at Roy and Riza as if they have just morphed into homunculi, but Maria slaps him on the arm and maneuvers him away, turning back to grin at Riza.

"Uh…" Roy stammers, staring at Riza. He is sure his face is just as scarlet as hers. "I…Um…"

Roy is saved by the starting chords of a wistful, hopeful waltz.

"Would you care to dance?" Roy says reasonably fluently, relief lending his words a smooth confidence. He bows, proffering a hand. "We've been dancing _around_ each other for far too long."

"Of course," Riza answers, taking his offered hand and allowing him to lead her away. Then a look of confusion darts over her face as Roy's gentle hand takes her not to the centre of the dance floor, but to the side and up a flight of stairs, where a frosted glass door is half-open. Grumman, watching the proceedings from a cushioned chair on the second level, chuckles. _All going to plan._

Like the lilting tunes of a violin, the flowing music ushers them out of slippery wood floors onto the white marble of a balcony. There, the frosty stars wheel above and the air is fresh and cold, but somehow bearably so. Riza finds the corners of her mouth turning up in a beautiful smile. They are alone here, without the pressings of society or work, but simply themselves. Roy and Riza. Dancing.

Their first steps are hesitant, Riza's hand trembling on Roy's shoulder, Roy's hand grasping hers like a lifeline. But they have not been together for years for nothing. Slowly, but perfectly, their paces become one, and with the grace and power brought by pure understanding of each other, they twirl and waltz to the faint music of the orchestra and of the world about them, no longer dancing around each other, but _together._

Roy feels laughter bubbling up within him, Riza's chiming laugh joining his and falling around him like the crystalline snowflakes flurrying about them. Riza should be cold, but with Roy there, she isn't. Rather, she feels warmth – warmth that starts from within her heart and spreads out to her fingers and the tips of her hair, and lends her steps a fluid grace that has Roy has seen so much of when they had sparred together.

Roy's military cap has fallen to the ground. He ignores it, allowing the wind to whistle through his hair and crumple the dark strands, flinging them about his eyes messily. The pin holding Riza's blonde fringe has become undone, and the silver pin clatters to the ground. Their feet, fleet and unwavering, dance over and around these obstacles with untold agility.

And in this one moment, this one, shining moment of glorious brilliance, all is right in the soft starlight on this white marble, above the bustle of Amestris and below the velvet sable of the night sky adorned with diamonds. The wind rustles about their feet, drawing out Roy's coat in liquid shadow and Riza's dress in purest innocence.

The waltz flourishes and falls about them, a single note fading into the mist.

Roy and Riza's steps slow, and without allowing time for his doubts to overwhelm him, Roy reaches out, touches Riza's chin, and kisses her.

Time stops and freezes in that single, perfect picture, whispering, _yes._

When they break apart, Roy finds his brain has become melted pudding, but more importantly, _happy_ melted pudding. Riza gazes up at him, and Roy finds something different about her eyes. Even as Roy finds his heart lightened by this newfound knowledge, Riza sees the same change come over Roy's warm, smiling eyes. They are as dark as they always have been, but only in colour, the colour of sable skies. But they are no longer killer's eyes, and neither are Riza's.

"It seems as if we have finally unburdened ourselves of the war," Roy sighs, as if to himself. He caresses Riza's hands in his.

"I feel…light. And free," Riza agrees. "Thank you. This took you long enough." Her arch smile captivates Roy, and dampens the questions in his heart. Laughing, at his expression, Riza squeezes his hand and remarks, her voice like a darting flute, "You are all gentleman tonight, Roy. Whose advice did you take?"

Roy glances away momentarily. He does not know whether what he is about to say is fair or foul news; that is for Riza to decide. "Riza," he murmurs gently. Riza's eyes widen as she picks up on his uncertainty. "I took the advice of someone who cares about you a great deal."

"Who?" Riza asks, confusion clouding her clear brown gaze.

Roy sighs as he leans down to whisper in her ear, "Your grandfather. Grumman."

Riza tears her hands out of his, but not before Roy senses them tremble, the shock bringing her fingertips to her temples. "What?" she breathes. There is something in the way she steps back haltingly, skirt swinging around her ankles, as if suddenly feeling the acute chill of midwinter air, that Roy has seen only once before. When Roy berated her for giving up, long ago, after the fifth laboratory. Seeing the white in her fingers and the loss of colour in her lips, Roy quietly removes his coat and wraps it around her shoulders, holding the lapels to fit the warm, heavy fabric more closely around her. The way her shoulders are hunched now makes her seem small. Vulnerable, even. Something Roy does not often see in her.

His hands remain on Riza's shoulders, even after she responds by pulling the coat tightly about herself, shaking fingers curling tightly into the cloth. "How is that possible? Both my grandfathers passed away long before I was born."

"Did your mother tell you her maiden name?" Roy asks gently, wrapping her in his arms. The wind blows chill on his thin formal-shirted frame, but he only cares for her warmth.

Riza sucks in a breath, burying her face in his shirt. "No. She always refused…I knew not why. I understand now," she chuckles, seemingly on the edge of tears, her voice muffled.

Roy strokes her hair with one soft glove. "Your grandfather…he would like to explain himself…but he wanted me to tell you of his true identity." He swallows, tears pricking his eyes. Roy hadn't let himself dwell on how much Grumman means to him, as a teacher, a mentor. "He hasn't got much time left."

Spoken words, clear, sure. "I want to speak to him."

Jolted, Roy finds Riza's liquid ochre eyes gazing up at him, the Riza he always knew, still strong, and still fighting. The snow has given her a perfect crown of pure white. Roy smiles, though both their eyes are wet. "I'll be there. With you."

"Thank you," Riza whispers.

They remain in their embrace, finding warmth in each others' arms, not caring for the snow around their feet or the music through the little door, the wind weaving with their hair, Roy's raven and Riza's golden, together, throughout that cold midwinter's evening.

**SHAMELESSLY referenced LOTR there. Whatever. Next chapter will be my last, I'm afraid. Next year's exam year. However, my next chapter is going to be extremely fluffily adorably melancholy comedy romantic. (Try to work that out) Haha. Next week, then.**


	5. Evening

**THIS IS THE END. WAAAAAAAHHHH. I love Royai. Don't want to end this story. But I suppose it has to. Bittersweet chapter, perhaps, but maybe the end will make up for it. I don't own FMA or any of its characters.**

**to overcome reality: Thanks for reviewing! I like making things adorbs.**

**theonceandfuture: Yeah, Merlin brofist! Thank you for liking the poetic stuff. I sometimes add small poems at the start of chapters, but I couldn't find the time with this one, sorry but yeah, hope you like this chapter!**

**lotusmelody17: You rock. As ever. Hope you find this as adorable as Tyki and Evelyn. I don't think I write Royai as well as I do for Tyki and Evie, but and then again, it's a different style. PM me!**

**Purbita: Thank you so much for your wonderful review! It made me really, really happy, and encouraged me so much! I was kinda worried about the last chapter flowing, so seeing your review was a relief. Hope you like this chapter! You'll see Royai move through troubles, as it always does…**

**Voceen: Thank you! I love that you like the style I write. Enjoy!**

**VampirateLycan: Thanks for reviewing! Grumman is revealed to be Riza's grandfather in one of the handbooks. You'll like this one if you like Riza's relationship with her grandfather. (or perhaps sad…)**

**Taethowen, FlyingHighDefyingGravity, mechkitty, hypercherrybomb, AceOvSpades, BlaiseEridence, black-flame-ninja: Thank you for following!**

Over Central City, in the twilight hours when the sky is a single unbroken pane of deep blue glass that seems to glow, wreathing all reality in azure, Roy Mustang sighs as he glances about him. Winter is almost gone. The world hangs in a half-breath of air, as if all is asleep, simply waiting for the stringed notes of snow to be replaced with fluted calls of birds, in the variation in melody known as Spring. Frost is almost gone, running a hand through his pure white hair and smirking as he prepares to go, leaving the warmth of Spring behind him for all those who remain.

Except those Frost must take with him.

Roy understands this as he enters the Fuhrer's mansion and strides up the stairs, his steps strangely hollow on the hard marble of the main staircase, the darkened house swallowing him. The military guards bow mutely to him as he passes, but not a word is spoken in the silent house. It is as if the shadowed hallways are already lifeless, and the sentinels but statues to guard a tomb...yet Roy paces ever steady, toward that last glimmer of lamplight underneath a door, the only sign of life in this forlorn place.

Roy pauses, gloved hand on wooden doorknob, and pushes open the door. It swings open on oiled hinges, silent, as if it fears to interrupt the calm of the chamber. Roy's boots move soundlessly over the carpet, leaving the sable shadows for the watery gold circle of a small lamp.

The lamp illuminates a four-poster bed, in which an old man, moustache barely quivering with shallow breaths, lies asleep. His frail hand lies on the coverlet, small against the expanse of white cotton. And holding that hand is a younger, graceful one, the owner of which is seated in a cushioned chair by the bed.

Roy crouches down next to Riza, a small smile appearing on his features as he sees her shoulders rise and fall in sleep, her head leaning on her grandfather's sheets. Gently, he reaches out a hand and strokes her cheek. Clear brown eyes open slowly and meet Roy's sable gaze. "Hey," Roy whispers, wrapping her in his arms.

"Hey," Riza answers, her voice muffled by his coat as she returns his embrace with her free arm.

For a long while, they remain as they are, drawing comfort from each other. "How is he?" Roy asks quietly, pulling back to examine Grumman, his hands still on Riza's shoulders.

"Grandfather is so tired," Riza sighs. "But he has accepted what is to come." She had hardly left Grumman's side since that night of the ball, when she had called him Grandfather for the first time. Grumman's health had taken a turn for the worse a month after midwinter.

"He is comforted, you know, by your presence here," Roy murmurs. Riza leans her head on his shoulder, his arm around her.

"He calls for you when he wakes," Riza says softly. "He wishes to tell you something, but he won't tell me what."

"I'll wait here until he wakes," Roy says, stooping to kiss her forehead. "Riza, go and get something to eat."

Riza shakes her head, her voice low. "I don't want to leave him."

"I'll be here. Don't worry. I'll send a servant to the kitchens if he rises." Roy's steady smile reassures her. "And if you continue to refuse, I'll just have to make it an order."

Riza raises an eyebrow in a tired parody of her usual arch grin. "_I'll_ be the one issuing orders, Roy." She kisses him on the cheek, and stiffly rises, passing silently from the chamber. The door closes soundlessly behind her.

The flickering lamplight plays over Roy's features, somehow making his raven hair darker and his dark gaze more piercing. The long evening minutes flow by, some quickly, some slowly. But soft words, frail in their whispering as fallen leaves, drift to him. "Trust me Roy, she will be."

Startled, Roy's abrupt intake of breath is harshly loud. But as he meets Grumman's wandering gaze, his slow smile spreads. "Sir. How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful," Grumman growls wryly, though his rasping voice betrays him. "Is the military well?"

"As well as it could be. The idiocy, though, of some of my subordinates is ever amusing," Roy chuckles. He adjusts the lamp, and calls a servant from outside to send for Riza.

"That is a relief to hear." Grumman sighs. "Mustang." Roy's gaze snaps to him, for there is something in his tone that belies urgency. Grumman continues, gnarled voice still steady. "I am glad Riza could be here with me. I am prouder of her than she knows." Grumman leans back against the pillows, his breath coming shallowly. "Now, if you remember that advice I gave you…" He motions weakly to the cabinet by his bed. "There is something you must have."

Roy's hands find the top drawer. It creaks open, running on rails that have rusted over from disuse. Nestled in a rose of wrinkled velvet lies a small ebony box. White-gloved fingers find sable wood. At a nod from Grumman, Roy snaps open the catch and slowly lifts the lid.

In the box he finds a ring.

"Sir…" Roy turns to Grumman, his eyes as dark as the secret in his hands, long-hidden from sight. "Is this…"

"My wife's ring," Grumman says, fondness softening his aged features. "I gave it to her years before, too long to count. It is Riza's rightful inheritance. Of course," – and here his gaze turns sharp – "_the manner_ in which you give it to her is your choice entirely."

Roy feels his face flush, and knows Grumman's eyes are still keen enough to notice the change in the dim light. "I'll give it some thought, sir," he mutters, almost to himself.

"You'd better," Grumman chuckles hoarsely, "because if you upset her I'll rise from my grave and murder you."

"Sir!" Roy exclaims, sorrow choking his voice. "Don't think that–"

Grumman's voice, still wickedly sharp, though tinged with age. "Don't be a fool. I've lived long enough to know I don't have much time." Another sigh. "My last order to you. Be a good leader to Amestris. And above all, a good king to your queen."

A tear slides down Roy's cheek, and he brushes it away. "Yes, sir," he replies. "I give you my word." He slides the box into a pocket.

Grumman nods, satisfied. Then hurried footsteps sound in the corridor, and Riza sweeps in, her weariness forgotten as she smiles at him and takes his hand. "Grandfather."

Grumman pulls weakly on her hand until she crouches by his side, placing her ear by his lips. Softly, so Roy does not hear, Grumman whispers, "My granddaughter. I am so proud of you. Please promise me you will be happy. It has grieved me for years to see you sorrowful."

"I promise, Grandfather," Riza answers, though tears are already threatening to choke her voice.

"Then all is well," Grumman laughs, a quiet sound in the echoing emptiness of the room. "I think I shall return to sleep now. Could the two of you remain here with me?"

"Of course," Roy replies, pulling Riza onto the cushioned seat next to him. "We'll be here." His arm is around Riza, comforting her and steadying her.

Grumman falls back asleep with a content smile on his wizened face.

As the clock chimes the hours till morning on the old clock-face in the hall, Night and Day no longer dance in the sky above. Instead, they stand sentinel to the wheeling stars and observe, hand in hand, waiting. Simply waiting. Perhaps sometime in that warm night, Day reaches down and strokes the sleeping cheek of the old man; and Night shakes his shoulder, waking him from his slumber.

Grumman smiles at the two of them, and allows Night and Day to each take one of his hands, support him, and lead him away down the avenue of stars, jewels in the tasselled hair of the night sky, where Frost hoists his traveling bag over one shoulder and leads the way.

Roy blinks, slowly coming back to consciousness as he steadies Riza's dozing head on his shoulder. He glances at the solitary candle in the room to find it gone, burned down to wax. But it is no longer needed; the face it illuminated is still. And in the warm sunlight of the first morning of spring, there is silence in the chamber, but birdsong outside the window.

And Roy bows his head. "Thank you, sir, for all you have taught me. Farewell."

(:~:)

The funeral is two days later.

The grass is a vibrant emerald, and newly-fallen dew coats each blade with silver and limns the tufts with diamonds. Single flowers scatter the grass, each a different hue and shade. Sunlight flows golden over it all, dappling the white gravestones with alternating shadow and stars under the trees.

Roy stands, head bowed, on the wet grass before the assembled ranks of military. He spares a glance at Riza, her uniform impeccable, her fringe brushing serious dark brown eyes, unreadable to others, perhaps, but revealing all her sorrow to him. Roy sighs, and addresses the ranks, speaking briefly, no more than is necessary, but somehow showing the depth of his respect for his mentor in the simple words.

When he finishes, he steps back and motions with one hand. "This has been a well-guarded secret for many years, but Fuhrer Grumman wished it to be revealed…I now invite Grumman's sole surviving relative and granddaughter, Riza Hawkeye, to speak."

Stunned silence. Havoc's mouth drops open before decorum slams it shut again.

Riza's words are as short as Roy's, but strong. She concludes by saying, "My Grandfather was a good leader over us. And I believe our next will be also." She glances at Roy, favouring him with a small smile. The signs of rank on his shoulders have changed, but he never will.

Roy takes his place by her side. "One of Grumman's last orders was to make Colonel Hawkeye High General. In effect, she will assist me with running Amestris. I can think of no other person more qualified to do so." Behind the cover of the speaker's stand, his hand find's Riza's. They clasp each other's hands tightly.

Applause sends the birds dancing through the air as they whistle their music.

Later, Riza bends over her grandfather's grave, caressing the white stone. And bending, she presses her lips to the marble, whispering, "Goodbye, grandfather. Thank you for all you have taught me."

Then she leans on Roy's arm and leaves the white slab there, in the sunny graveyard. Before it a cluster of flowers bloom, bringing brightness yet, and hope unlooked-for.

(:~:)

Roy walks the hidden paths of the darkened park, deep in thought. The past week had been bitter with grief, yet strangely sweet in the new challenges it had brought.

It had been strange.

Strange to see the rank on his shoulders wherever he caught his reflection in the window; stranger, even, to see the reverent respect in the gazes of his subordinates, more that he had seen when a General; and strange to find High-General Riza always there, by his side throughout the long hours he labours to run an army and country.

Perhaps the last one is not so strange. She has always been there for him, after all.

Even now, his feet guide him in a direction only found by instinct, through the rivers of lamplight, and more often, in the winding shortcuts beneath the silver bark of trees swaying in the warm spring wind, shivering as if in expectation. Of what, Roy does not stop to think. He can only hope it will happen.

If he finds the courage to make it happen.

And so, in the hidden recesses of the park, by a sparkling, newly-run brook that trickles with muted melody behind the whispering trees and solitary lamp-post, he finds her where he knew she would be.

"Hey," Roy says softly, so as not to startle her.

Riza turns toward him, raising an eyebrow. "Did you think you could startle me?"

A pile of books smashes into Roy's head; or at least it feels that way to him. "I thought I was being quiet," Roy answers sheepishly, sliding beside her.

"I heard you, more than a minute ago, crashing through those branches by the creek with all the grace of a hippopotamus," she says amusedly, her old twinkle in her eyes.

"You're far too hard on me!" Roy protests.

"I was being observant."

"Havoc has had it out on me all afternoon, blabbering on about that new girlfriend of his, and now I don't get a single moment of peace!" Roy says, mock huffily.

Riza grins at him; she finds him rather adorable when he's huffy. But other thoughts prevent her smile from being truly free. When she catches Roy staring at her in concern, she ducks her head ands says quickly, "How did you know I would be here?"

Roy doesn't reply, but after a moment he takes her hand and asks gently, "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Riza answers without hesitation. Then she sighs, leaning against his shoulder. "Almost. Almost completely well. It's just that…Grandfather left me all he had…including his mansion. He ordered Bradley's original mansion to be destroyed and that one to be built in its place…it's his, not the Fuhrer's, you know, so now that I am rightful owner I should live there." Riza sighs, rubbing Roy's hand. "But I don't want to live in that huge place alone."

Roy steels himself and speaks in a rush, "Perhaps you won't have to."

"What?" Riza exclaims, confusion clouding her gaze. Roy slowly rises, and stands there for a moment, hands on Riza's shoulders. She notices that once again, they are not gloved with fire-sealed cloth. "Roy?" she whispers.

Roy drops down to one knee before her. "Riza," he murmurs. Her eyes widen in realisation. Roy sucks in a breath, and says quietly, barely audible above the chuckling of the brook, "You have said it before. We've been together for a long time. So, I think it would be right for us to be together for the rest of our days."

Riza's hands are at her mouth now, covering her smile as she blinks back sudden tears.

Roy reaches into his pocket and places a velvet box in Riza's lap, opening it to reveal the ring Grumman gave him. "Your grandfather was a good man," he says, a warm feeling growing in his chest and sending the words tumbling out of him. "He always gave good advice. One of the most important was that a truly excellent king must have an amazing queen. This is your grandmother's ring." He gulps, feeling the pulse roar in his ears. "So, will you?"

Riza's hands drop from her mouth, reaching forward to grasp Roy's face. A choking laugh emanates from her lips. "Roy..." she whispers…and Roy sees it. The same humour he always finds in her clear brown eyes, that challenges him to be the best he ever can be. "Roy Mustang. Ask. Properly," she half-gasps through her laughter.

Roy brings a hand up to hers, resting on his cheek. "Riza Hawkeye, will you marry me, and in doing so make me a deliriously happy man?" A crazed, cocky smile already spreads on his features.

Whatever words Roy has next are drowned out by Riza's shout of joy, and he finds her arms around his neck, hugging him so tightly he thinks he might suffocate. "Was…that a yes?" he hazards with a gurgle.

"_Yes,_ you stupid, idiotic dolt! Yes!" Riza screams, breaking away and punching him on the shoulder. The tears are dripping off her chin now. "It's about time!"

Roy reflects he rather enjoys the pain as he slides the ring onto her finger.

Afterwards, he stares into her eyes and finds them serene. Peaceful. As if they have never seen war. Roy laughs as he grabs Riza's hands and spins her around, her laughter a glorious duet with his. The music of the world is theirs now; theirs to listen. And to compose. And even as they dance together, the trees come alive with shouts of friends.

First comes Havoc the Roy-tracker, Sheska in tow, his cigarette slipping out of his mouth as he shouts congratulations, no longer hiding; Fuery, Falman, and Breda; Maria Ross and Denny Brosh, hand in hand; Armstrong, his moustache gleaming in the half-light as he bellows praise and gives them arm-crushing hugs; and last of all, the glimmer of blonde hair slips out from between the branches, and Edward and Alphonse Elric stumble into the clearing.

"Edward-kun!" Riza exclaims delightedly.

"Shrimp!" Roy calls through the throng, "I didn't know you two were back!"

"Well, we wouldn't miss _Fuhrer Jerk's_ engagement party, would we?" Ed hollers back at him, only to whimper slightly as Winry, who has appeared out of nowhere with Mei beside her, slams a fist on top of his head.

Roy's boisterous laugh mixes with the chimes of Riza's.

With some sort of delirious, insane mirth, the rowdy party hoist Roy and Riza onto their shoulders and carry them out of the park. Their hands still clasp each others' tightly.

For as surely as Night and Day dance on in the vault of stars far above to some unknown waltz, some small part of that starlight touches Roy and Riza's faces, before falling about them and wreathing them in silver. And so, on that warm spring evening, Roy and Riza are finally where they should be. Together. And they will never be apart again.

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FINIS

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**Thank you, all who favorited or followed. And especially all who reviewed! And of course to lotusmelody17, who is wonderful to talk to as a friend I love writing long fics, but this will be my last in a while, considering I have exams after the summer. Well, keep a lookout, and I'll post stuff every now and then. Farewell!**


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